


Yesterday, I gave my first class here to beginning photographers in Maputo. I started out with a little photo history-camera obscura and view cameras– and talked a bit about Matthew Brady and Ansel Adams. I told my students that I was going to have a photojournalistic/documentary slant since that's what the base of my experience, knowledge and interest. So why Ansel Adams?
As a native Californian, I've always had strong leanings toward my home state. When I was a kid, I favored television shows that were more West Coast-centric (The Brady Bunch; Adam 12; What's Happening; The Love Boat...). I was a big surf music fan (Dick Dale, The Ventures, Beach Boys), the whole San Francisco-Sunset Strip thing (Mamas & the Papas; The Doors; Grateful Dead...), then later with the L.A. punk scene (see Decline of the Western Civilization; Sublime and No Doubt...) and with Jazz, Dave Brubeck. John Steinbeck books were special for their California leanings. I've always hated Hollywood's tendency to lean toward the East Coast and became a big fan of Quentin Tarantino for breaking that mold with movies often set in the area of L.A. I grew up in. So with photography, there was Ansel Adams.
Ansel Adams was somebody that I looked at when I was first learning photography and trying to figure out proper exposures and black and white printing. The whole zone system was somewhat of a puzzle to me. Since he was the first marketed fine arts photographer, his work was everywhere (calendars, posters,museums), and he's usually one of the first or only photographers to pop out of a non-photo person's mouth because of his popularity. So to some, he's gained a bit of a cliché tag.
I was fascinated by a documentary that I checked out from the library on VHS about him. There was a scene when he was making a gigantic print with roll paper sprawled out on a darkroom wall that I found incredible at the time. But more than anything was how elequant he was speaking about photography and how-being a trained classical pianist-he often compared photography to music. Over the years when I've come across his quotes, read his writings or seen other films about him, my affection for him has grown. Much of what he says applies perfectly to documentary photography. Over the years instead of seeing simply pretty pictures, beautiful prints and exposures, or familiar western scenes, I've seen him as a documentarian.
He was obsessed with the United States wilderness and a big conservationist. Along with Rachel Carson's Silent Spring, his own book This Is the American Earth which released that same year was quite influencial and ultimately had some impact on the modern green movement. But more than anything, the scenes that he documented helped raise their profile and helped save them from eager developers in the post-World War II boom years.
That aside, I was surprised that I had never known about a project that he had done about Japanese-Americans in an internment camp in Manzanar, California during WWII. While I was gathering images to show, I came across them and was taken aback feeling a bit silly and ignorant. I knew that he had done some portraits–although he didn't enjoy doing that type of work– and was friends with folks who did photograph more people like Edward Steichen, Paul Strand and Edward Weston, and had much respect for photographers like Cartier-Bresson and their work; however, this project caught me off guard.
It's not the most wonderfully executed story in comparison to W. Eugene Smith or Walker Evans, but it helped me understand him more as a photographer, and made me feel more justified in being a fan of his. Here are links to the project:
Zeitmaschine review
U.S. National Archives



