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For the last couple of years my identification badge at Visa Pour L’Image has had a large star in the top right hand corner where the categorization (agent, photographer etc.) of the attendee usually goes. I have been inordinately proud of this distinction, regarding it as one of the just deserts of a lifetime spent in photojournalism. I say inordinately because I wasn’t quite sure what it signified; I just knew that it set me apart from the crowd, a position I’ve been trying to achieve during my entire career. Imagine my chagrin, to use an appropriately French word, when I discovered that the authorities issuing it put the star on when they have no idea who you are, or why you’re here, but they grudgingly acknowledge that you may be a professional of some kind or another. In other words you don’t really fit into any recognized category, which I suppose in its own way is something else to be inordinately proud of. *************************************************** Those of you that have read my Perpignan reports before may remember the suspicion bordering on fear with which I regard a French person behind the wheel of a car. I found this year that this extends to when they’re not actually behind the wheel but have recently parked. It’s not that there are no parking spaces in Perpignan, it’s that anywhere you can fit a car is considered a parking space, and with the size that European cars are nowadays, that’s pretty much anywhere bigger than a Croq Monsieur. It unfortunately also includes the space in front of where I parked my car, making it impossible for me to leave. Even though the Renault Twingo looks as if you can pick it up and easily dispose of it, it’s actually heavier than you would think. *************************************************** One of the most distressing aspects of this year’s festival was the noticeably diminished American attendance. I’m sure that this had something to do with smaller budgets and other fiscal belt tightening, but I also suspect that it had to do with the perception that Visa is anti-American. If it is a factor keeping my fellow countrymen away then this is pretty pathetic. First of all I think that it’s a misperception; I don’t think that they dislike us any more than they dislike anyone else. Secondly even if it is true, why miss one of the most important gatherings of photojournalism each year just because you may be on the receiving end of a few Gallic snorts of disapproval when they hear your accent. If we’ve become so sensitive to criticism as a nation that we don’t want to leave our own continent then don’t even bother to go as far as Canada. They’re not crazy about us either. *************************************************** *************************************************** There were two exhibitions that admirably demonstrated that just because a story has been done before it’s no reason not to do it again if your vision and passion are powerful enough to distinguish it from its predecessors. If ever a subject has had the full focus of the world’s cameras upon it it’s the struggle in the Middle East between the Palestinians and the Israelis. Endless miles of film have been expended on both sides of the conflict, in some instances producing stories of power and conviction, but more often than not showing a superficial and often partisan view of a complex situation. Both Jan Grarup and Kai Wiedenhofer have worked for extensive periods of time on the two different sides, Grarup following the lives of the children of ultra-religious Jewish settlers, while Wiedenhofer has spent ten years living and working in the occupied territories as he documents the progression of the Palestinian Intafada. The work that both photographers have produced is photojournalism at its best, and once again shows the value of long-term commitment to a project. I have no doubt that Wiedenhofer would never have had the access that he got without the amount of time that he was willing to spend on the project, nor would he have developed the understanding that he clearly has of the Palestinians and their culture without learning their language and history. *************************************************** If the exhibitions left you feeling numb and somewhat depressed, then you could easily reverse this by a visit to the business side of the festival, the Press Center in the Palais des Congrès. It is here that all the agencies have their booths, where deals are discussed, friendships confirmed and enmities created. The energy there was extraordinary, and certainly did not look like the manifestations of a dying profession. Corbis and Getty were positioned opposite each other, which I thought would be like sniper alley, but they seemed to cohabit peaceably enough, mainly by ignoring the others existence. Corbis certainly won the prize for the best looking booth of the entire show, with many examples of strong photojournalism adorning its walls. However this was slightly neutralized by an expensively produced promotional piece that was unfortunately called “Crop”, the last word you want to use when trying to endear yourselves to the men and women of documentary photography. The sheer number of agencies represented was impressive, and included several of which I had never heard, such as the curiously named Godong that describes itself as the photography agency of men and religions, but sounds more like an Aborigine war chant. The thing that makes Visa special is this combination of aesthetics and business. I know of no other place where you can see exhibitions of the work of twenty-seven photojournalists and get yourself a new sub-agent within a radius of less than a kilometer. You also hear the latest unsubstantiated rumors (this year including the possibilities that Getty has bought Gamma and that Corbis has done a deal with Zuma); you see friends that you haven’t seen since the same time last year; you find out who has been recently employed, and, by their absence, who has been recently fired. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. What I would miss, and do, are the nightly projections. They’re a nightmare to get into, the shows are tediously long, the photography shown often mediocre, and the only time you can get a decent table in a restaurant is while they’re on. Besides which, I still have a British digestive system that doesn’t work if food is introduced into it after 9 p.m. *************************************************** The final word on Perpignan, and maybe on the
business of photojournalism must rest this year with Magnum photographer
David Alan Harvey (once described as the only man in the world with
three first names.) I was having lunch with him and the eternally youthful
John Morris when the remarkable and unlikely longevity of Magnum was
discussed. David said, and I quote: “All the businesses that were
run like good businesses are out of business. Magnum’s still here.”
I think he maybe onto something. Instead of advising readers, clients
and students to be better at business I think I’m going to start
telling them to be worse at it and pay less attention to it. It’s
worked for Magnum so it may work for you. © Peter Howe |
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