I attended a zoom lecture on Hungarian Photography a few days ago. It was given by Colin Ford, a well-respected photography curator and academic who in 2011 curated an acclaimed Royal Academy exhibition entitled Eyewitness which was mostly about the five well-known Hungarian photographers from the 30s, 40s and 50s: Brassaï, Capa, Kertész, Moholy-Nagy and Munkácsi. I went down and it was wonderful – just the kind of photography I like to look at: fleeting impressions in black and white shot à la sauvette as the French say - on the hoof.
Most of what he said in the lecture would be pretty well-known to anyone with a passing interest. All the standard photos were there: Capa’s falling soldier; Kertesz’s underwater swimmer; Munkacsi’s boys at Lake Tanganikya and so on plus various anecdotes and tales about the photographers themselves. There was even Capa’s endlessly repeated quote that if your photographs aren’t good enough then it’s because you aren’t close enough – which has always struck me, coming from a war photographer, as being a classic bit of Hemingway-esque bragodoccio.
Personally, I’ve always been a big fan of Andre Kertesz – largely for the simplicity of his style. This one, for example
André Kertesz, Martinique, 1972
By the end of the talk, however, I found myself coming to the conclusion that in the end, perhaps there isn’t that much to say about any particular photograph – even renowned ones like these. You might describe the circumstances in which one was taken – though that would be mostly hearsay. You might try to analyse it as though it were a painting – a fool’s errand, in my view: photographs and paintings are two completely different things. You might take a theoretical tack, or an anecdotal one but in the end a photo makes an emotional or psychological or cultural connection with you or it doesn’t and that is more or less it. The words are like minnows round a whale.
Nuns, by the lesser known Hungarian photographer, Ernö Vadas. What can words do for this photo? Just a feast for the eyes
One interesting point that came up was thia: what is it about the Hungarians – or possibly the fact that all these five photographers were Jewish – that produced this talent? There was a suggestion that they all struggled with English or other foreign languages and photography was an ideal medium for them to overcome that difficulty. And Robert Capa did say: "while pursuing my studies my parents' means gave out, and I decided to become a photographer, which was the nearest thing to journalism for anyone who found himself without a language." It is true that Hungarian is not an Indo-European language and its closest linguistic family members are Finnish and Estonian. So maybe that does lead to a certain sense of isolation particularly in such a small country. But why in the middle of the twentieth century only? It’s not really like Greek philosphers or Italian artists – great flowerings over long periods of time.
This may be a teensy bit controversial but I do think that other factors are at play. Firstly they are all male and white – which at the time was hardly a drawback and nor is it now. Wouldn’t the work of Kati Horna measure up just as well?
Kati Horna; Anarchist Funeral, Barcelona, 1937
Next – at that time, several decades ago, they were photojournalists: it is only latterly the notion of artistic genius has attached itself to them; and not only them but many others. Once reputations are established and serious money has changed hands, catalogues and biographies have been written and archives are established, a ratchet effect sets in and there is no going back: the escalator will go in one direction only. All five of them were very talented photographers, of course, but their reputation has been established in exactly the same way over the years as many other non-Hungarians. The photographs and their history haven’t changed over that time – it is simply that they have now been anointed by the art world on behalf of the shadowy economics supporting it.
In the end, I wonder if nationality is in fact terribly important. Is there such a thing as French photography, or German photography or American photography? Colin Ford felt that there is and that sometimes he could distinguish a Hungarian quality about a particular photo. Perhaps knowledge and experience does make that possible - but I still wonder.