Reflections on A Concentration Camp

I'm visiting Auschwitz with a friend whose father survived the horror to move to the USA and start a new life, after which my friend was born. He has felt a need to connect with this part of his history, and I, as one who is so often disconnected from my personal history, am glad to accompany him.
Of course, as modern Americans, most of us have known no real hardship: our parents lived through the Depression, and though the recent unpleasantness has been just that for many of us, those who are really impacted are out of sight.

Krakow is the closest major city, so we base ourselves there.
It is one of the most beautiful, preserved, and vibrant cities I have seen. The Poles have been abused, traded back and forth, and almost seemingly forgotten. But they have produced some of the greatest intellectuals, artists, and scientists the world has known; one need only mention Chopin.

In touring the camp, I can't help but be bombarded by multiple thoughts: how could people do this to each other? How could one person do that to another person? What is modern Germany's relation to what happened here? And then there are more prosaic thoughts as an artist and journalist: What remains of what was here? Should this place be declared off limits due to the fact that we are literally walking on the ashes of thousands of people? Can we learn the proper lessons from this place?

Entrance of camp: "Work Makes You Free"





The Nazis attempted to destroy much of Auschwitz once it was clear the jig was up for them. And the Poles built up the museum in the 50's, and of course any restoration is not the same as the original. Millions of people have passed through this place since, and they have all left their mark. I found myself looking for original things to photograph: manhole covers, locks, rusted hinges that looked of the period, the chimneys that remained from the destroyed bunkhouses. Some of the interesting things that I wanted to photograph (and did) seem suspiciously as if they might be relics of the tourists, not prisoners: ashes in the heating stoves, graffiti scratched in to the plaster walls.


Prosthetic limbs stolen from Jewish prisoners

It's well known that regular people can perform heinous acts on their fellows, especially when told to do so by a superior. And the greater the “us/them” dichotomy, the easier it is for an individual to justify, witness “gooks.” I have many German friends (admittedly, most are intellectuals); they all carry a burden of guilt from the Nazi days. That said, we have all read about the resurgence of Nazism, especially in the East.

Mostly, I reflect on the meaning to myself and my country. While Germans have undergone deep soul-searching due to this horror, I do not sense the same at home where we have perpetrated our own abominations. Let's begin with the treatment of the first Americans: willful, methodical slaughter, genocide, and theft of their lands. Then of course one thinks of the slavery issue, primarily associated with the South. But these are nightmares far in the past, and not likely to be dredged up for consideration. On the other hand, our contemplation of Vietnam rarely, if ever goes beyond the domestic impacts of “The American War,” yet estimates of the number of dead range from 1.5 to over 3 million. Our application of hebicide defoliants alone fills me with horror. According to Wikipedia, the USA sprayed 12% of the total land area of South Vietnam at concentrations far greater than the “manufacturer's suggested application.” We targeted food crops, causing mass starvation and population migrations, and poisoning the entire ecosystem to this day. The effects persist to the present. I have been there and have seen the birth defects in the present population. Interestingly, I did not encounter any animosity.

Then there are our current wars: It's a safe guess that over a million Iraqi civilians have been killed in our foray, maybe 25,000 in Afghanistan. Civilians. But we will never know. And we don't seem to care.
And we haven't even discussed our torture policies which continue to this day.
Land of the free, home of the brave?

Branded at the Bienale

Venice is the city of commerce, of conspiracy, romance, and art. It is also one of the most picturesque and expensive cities in the world. Every second year, the Bienalle brings the world's most important contemporary art together in the Giardini, on the east side of the city, for exhibit. Each nation has a pavilion which represents their most unique, talented, or possibly beloved artists to the art cognoscenti.

The weather was perfect, warm, not too humid, with a lovely breeze blowing from the ocean. Alas I had but 36 hours there, which I started by taking a walk with the lovely and dynamic Marjorie Gordon in Piazza San Marco, where the renovation of the cathedral was in its final stages. The mosaics above the doors were breathtaking in their revealed beauty. One can only imagine the mastery of the artists that created them. The detail and textures rendered were unbelievable, and to see them freshly cleaned and shining in the morning sun (we were up before the crowds) was a revelatory experience. We then proceeded to Due Mori, a famous watering hole where Marjorie insisted we have a prosecco (at 8 in the morning).
Having done all of her art browsing before my arrival, she gave me a list of “must sees” and proceeded to the beach for a day of leisure. I rousted my good friend Dietrich Petzold, the renaissance man from Berlin, and we proceeded to the Bienalle.

Our first stop was the Swiss Pavilion, which was a tremendous assortment of smashed and obsolete consumer items, many wrapped in plastic, beginning with a plethora of mobile phones, proceeding to stacks of monitors and televisions, and so on.
Anyone who knows my work would know that the message of consumption and disposal is one of my most treasured themes. My criticism with what I saw was the apparent lack of craft involved here. Perhaps it's not possible to make something of beauty out of piles of consumer detritus, but in so doing, one would create an irony that becomes much more effective than piles of garbage emitting a miasma of ozonic sickliness.

Next was the German Pavilion, which celebrated the recently deceased Christoph Schlingensief, a filmmaker whose subject matter was the the rise of fascism in Germany, another extremely resonant subject, especially as this pernicious incursion of personal liberty is ascendant worldwide, especially in the USA. But here again, my feeling was the exhibit lacked subtlety. The main room was styled to resemble a church, with macabre decoration- and of course I don't speak the language, though I am a big fan of German film. So I left dissatisfied.
Shortly along we came upon the USA pavilion, which seemed to be focused on the addiction of our culture and economy to war- again, a reverberant theme for me, but... Outside was an upended tank with a workout treadmill on one of the treads- kind of cool, but really just a demonstration of what a conceptual artist can do when someone puts a few hundred thousand dollars in the hand. Where was the craft? Inside was a weapon-bearing statue of liberty lying down in a tanning machine, and a cash machine connected to a set of organ pipes. Is this the best art my country can produce?

By this time, I was being overwhelmed by the surfeit of Swatch logos. Of course, any venture in today's world must find sponsorship, thanks to the fascistic cutting of nationally supported arts (can't cut the military due to all those enemies of the state), but the headlong indulgence of our societies to be branded amounts to a theft of personality that I resent.
One of the other brandings was by Enel, the Italian energy producer (one wonders how much mercury and carbon dioxide they are putting into our environment). The other thing that struck me was the amount of trash being produced by the whole production (here was the irony lacking in the Swiss exhibit).
Everywhere one looked was branded garbage.
Alas I had made the decision not to carry a camera, having checked them at the airport before venturing into Venice.

We then ventured to the Arsenale section of the event, at an old warehouse building where weaponry and munitions were stored, and workers housed. My impression here was much the same as before, much gimmickery and reliance on the latest techno-philia, but very little craft and meaning.

For me, a true artist has mastered her chosen field such that it becomes secondary to what the artist has to say.
At the end of the Arsenale was a refreshing exception: a film titled "The Clock," by Christian Marclay, in which he had edited together segments of many films which followed the progression of real time, showing a watch here or clock there, in some the mention of a specific time: fantastic. Impossible to imagine the amount of research and editing involved. I did not watch but bit of it, assuming I would go back later and see the whole.

The other priority on Marjorie's list (that I had time to see) was the Palazzo Grassi, which contained a group exhibit of renowned living artists. What a relief, to see this collection of thoughtful, well-executed pieces. The highlight for me was Zhang Huan, the Chinese artist who does giant portraits using incense ash from Chinese temples. Words don't describe. This is art. Beautiful, sublime, masterful. This man will hang next to history's great artists through time.

The Names Have Changed

The report on the “Upper Big Branch Mine Disaster” (the WV mine “accident” in which 29 miners died) has been released. The list of violations found is long, but more telling was the discovery that the company has kept a second set of books, hidden from regulators, that listed all of the various issues. Of course, this tragedy is a legacy of the corporate welfare mentality of the previous administration. Like all welfare recipients, those corporations are screaming at the possible recision of those goodies. Exemption from safe workplace and environmental regulations is simply another handout to those producers, and thus their shareholders.

Meanwhile, back at the mine, the almost comic director of Massey (the mine owner) Don Blankenship, has resigned, much to the dismay of those who try to leaven these deadly topics. And Massey, in the great tradition of corporate 'Amerikan' escape from liability, has been acquired but another company. Of course, Blankenship and other execs have refused to testify, so as not to incriminate themselves.

And we go about our daily affairs, most of us not even aware of the Upper Big Branch and the 29 people that died in the underworld to bring us that black gold that powers our computers. Try to remember their loved ones and turn off the lights when you leave the room. And unplug the TV and cable box while you are at it, one of the largest electricity hogs in your house.

El Paso

From a pilot's perspective, flying in El Paso, Texas is a stressful event. It is literally surrounded by restricted air space: Mexico to the south, and Fort Bliss military base to the north. So, one either approaches from the east or the west, talking to the controllers and watching carefully for other air traffic continually. And be careful not to hit the giant ASARCO smokestack, the phallic remains of a superfund site that dominates the El Paso skyline. The smelter that it served poisoned the air, land, and water for the 70 odd years of its operation, and is still in bankruptcy. Smeltertown, where the predominantly Mexican labor force lived, was razed by the EPA due to its staggering contamination, the residents relocated, leaving only a tremendous statue of Christ looking over the site. The border with Juarez, the notorious Mexican city across the river, dominates life in El Paso.

Mexico provides labor, an escape for corporations from American environmental regulations, and fuels an industry of border security. Copper was the primary product of the smelter. Nearby in New Mexico, are several large copper mines owned by a mining giant with an environmental record less than pristine.

When my friend the writer Roger D. Hodge mentioned he was going down to work on a book about the border, I immediately asked to accompany, and called LightHawk, that great organization of environmental pilots, asking if they had anyone in the area. Merry Schroeder from Santa Fe volunteered, and agreed to fly down and pick us up in El Paso. In spite of the forecast for high winds, which make flying and aerial photography quite difficult, the day broke calm and clear. Due to the stress of flying in and out of El Paso, Merry wanted to fly from the left seat, which has the opening window, but we agreed to touch down when we arrived at Silver City, NM and change seats. Shooting through a window is highly problematic for numerous reasons: reflections in the window, loss of contrast and resolution shooting through the plexi window, and the inability to look down. At the airfield were several fire fighting craft: a large helicopter and plane, undergoing maintenance from their duties fighting the wildfires in New Mexico. In spite of my entreaties, Merry insisted that the air space was restricted, and that we could not fly there and photograph. So we changed seats and proceeded to the nearby mines and smelter.

Open pit mines are possibly the most visible of “industrial scars” and the trick for me is to take these disasters, inherently ugly detritus of our consumer culture and create images that captivate the attention of the viewer. Ultimately this is about using the rules of color and composition, and, in that five seconds of attention, stimulate interest and curiosity, and tell a story.

By this time, the wind was picking up, which makes positioning the plane quite difficult. The details I'm interested to shoot are very specific, and in a plane, one has but a second, literally, to get them. Merry is a very skilled pilot, and was able to put me in the proper place repeatedly. Between the bouncing plane, and the wind tearing at the lens, getting that tight, exact, composition ain't easy, so
around and around we go. Thanks to exemptions in the clean air and clean water acts, mining wastes are exempt from reporting, so the real impact of these mines is unknown. Art can somehow fill that gap, as a picture does not lie (like a politician). And only through the collaboration with people like Merry and LightHawk can these stories be told. We photographed two mines and the accompanying smelter, then headed back to El Paso where we were interested to see the border fence. The fence, so imposing from the ground (and such an environmental barrier) is hard to photograph from the air. It becomes a demarcation line, an effect that is very visible. The other quite visible effect is the traffic queuing up to come in to the USA. So much money is being spent on an intractable situation that will only be remedied when the underlying causes are addressed: economic disparity and drug use in the USA. Until that time, the fence is but a monument to futility, not to mention a repeat of a similar mistake. Fortunately, the Mexicans we are trying to exclude don't have the same intent as the Germans did.

ESQ

Last week, I had the great pleasure to photograph the Emerson String Quartet, one of the great music groups of our day. Confession: I have never heard them play live. With good humor they endured my imperious bullying, and we got many great shots which will soon be seen on their new CD for Sony.

It’s such a joy to work with people that are masters of their craft. I think it’s what I like best about my job. And of course, gentle teasing is also a great part of the day. Playing a little country music for the Juilliard mafia is always a must. And of course these things only happen when the real work is done by someone else, in this case, Dirk, Susan, and Katherine.

It turned out that the group was playing at the Met Museum the next night, joining the pianist Menahem Pressler. Only a small amount of begging was necessary to obtain a ticket. The evening opened with Mr. Pressler doing a Beethoven sonata and ended with him and the Quartet playing Dvořák. It is a great joy to see a group of artists that have been doing their thing for decades get up there and so clearly enjoy themselves, and play the pieces as if they had never been played. I was transported.

The complete program:
Sonata No. 31 in A-flat Major, Op. 110 ~ Beethoven
Estampes ~ Debussy
Piano Quintet in A Major, Op. 81 ~ Dvořák

Upon arriving home and digging in my CD collection, I found a version of Schubert played by Mr. Pressler and the Beaux Arts Trio. This is one of my long time favorites, probably due to Kubrick’s adroit use of it in Barry Lyndon.

Who said this music was aging?

Just Say 'NO' for Earth Day

Earth Day events in New York have traditionally been the result of many concerned citizens voicing their fears about the damage done to our life support system, a bit like the raucous 60s we all like to remember so fondly. The centerpiece event at Grand Central Station has always had the same manic feel that we associate with “the good old days.” And of course, it’s difficult to maintain momentum in spontaneously organized, issue-based grass roots organizations, especially as they accumulate staff and equipment.

Strolling around the Earth Day exhibit at Grand Central this year, I was struck, not so much by the environmentalist fervor of the event and participants, but by the mercantilist nature of the event. Leggy, breathless blonds touted the efficiency of washing machine/dryer combinations (as if a dryer were not the most earth-unfriendly device made). A life-sized mural of models, photographed in a “life-style” manner, urged us to buy some brand of apparel “for the good of the planet” (buying organic cotton is good, as cotton is the crop on which the most pesticides are sprayed). Toyota was there with the Prius, which is unavailable, due to the seismic sea wave (not tidal wave) and accompanying nuclear disaster. And there were a few moms and kids milling about with crayons and happy faces. But the overarching message (maybe I’m a cynic) was: buy Buy BUY!

I’m the first to believe that we can change the world by careful choices of what we buy; as a matter of fact, I think it’s ultimately the only effective vote the individual has. Our real problem is heedless consumerism, on every level, whether it’s buying the new iPhone or leaving the lights on, it’s our consumption binge that is the problem. That means you and me.

Sing A Different Tune

Even when traveling to speak, I want to carry an image recorder. And if I’m going to spend the time to make the images, I want the result to be worth printing and keeping. Of course, to carry the good quality digital means a mule-load of equipment, batteries, drives, chargers, zoom lenses with vibration control, and other such indulgences. Our impulse these days seems to be for the “does-it-all” solution, which of course speaks for the HD video camera that shoots the nice panorama still (if you remember to bring the screw-on wide-angle adaptor). But ultimately, it does not satisfy. If you shoot video, the audio doesn’t make it because there is no sound man, and the stills are too low-res for large applications. The answer is so obvious as to require an apology with its revelation: shoot on some of the film in the fridge. Which, of course, is all about pulling out the M6.

I’m someone who loves things well-made. Anything. Even if I don’t like that category of object. And I’m a photographer, who ultimately still loves the mystery of a photon hitting a light sensitive surface. I will admit I still sometimes pull the old Leicas out of the safe and run through the shutter speeds, several times on each one. That’s what I was taught to do to spread the grease in the shutter. The Leica M series is a wonderful, well-designed, lovingly-made celebration of the human’s ability to craft something that is both machine and artwork.

I hate the contemporary practice, inevitable with technology, of taking the picture and looking at it immediately to decide if that was what you wanted. Confession: I do it too. But how craven.

So to have the result of the evolution of knowledge of camera-making in hand again, and respond to the rigor it demands, is quite a joy. Of course, for the big jobs, it’s not possible not to digitize... between cost and schedule.

And let’s not forget, film has a tremendous footprint.

My hope is that Leica will someday produce a digital reflex camera that uses the wonderful lenses I have kept in pristine condition. Hard to slow the march of progress.