Tate Artist Rooms: Robert Mapplethorpe (Aberystwyth Arts Centre)

Self-Portrait, 1980

I have always wanted to be one of the kids. One of those kids that gave Patti Smith's wonderful "Just Kids" its title. It's a tender longing to have seen the wild years of the late 1960s and 1970s, to spend nights and have conversations with the likes of William Burroughs, Janis Joplin and, naturally, Robert Mapplethorpe. But having been conceived a couple of decades to late, I remain as one of the kids who dress in black, turn off the radio whenever Taylor Swift is playing, and nurture their unrequited love for Mapplethorpe by visiting every exhibition they can. 

This month, I had the chance to see his work in the Arts Centre in Aberystwyth/Wales as part of the Tate Artist Rooms tour. And let's be frank, seeing Robert Mapplethorpe's beautiful photographs of his friends and of himself on the wall almost feels like a proper journey through time, and is probably as good as it can get in the year 2015. 

I saw some of Mapplethorpe's work curated by Isabelle Huppert at Paris Photo last year, but didn't find it as poignant or impressive as this year's small retrospective in Aberystwyth. Presenting a fairly small number of images (compared to Mapplethorpe's extensive oeuvre), the Tate cleverly managed to assemble a collection that is comprehensive but not overwhelming, and a nice introduction to Mapplethorpe's work in general. The focus is on the (self-)portraits, with only little room given to his still-lifes, which does wonders for the cohesion of the exhibition.

If you made your way through the display the right way round, it would start with Mapplethorpe's early self portraits, which he would use to perfect his photographic technique, then take you on a expedition through the Hotel Chelsea and Andy Warhol's The Factory, encountering Philip Glass, Keith Haring and Iggy Pop, exploring Mapplethorpe's more thematically constructed projects on the way, to finish on the self-portraits taken towards the end of his life, concluding the trip with a haunting close-up of his eyes. Just like "Just Kids" the exhibition traces Robert Mapplethorpe's life with a sentimental note, but the centre stage is taken by vivid, extravagant characters, be it his many alter-egos or the soon-to-be-famous poets, artists, bon vivants that he captured one by one.

Marianne Faithfull, 1976

They stare back at you, one by one, as you progress through the exhibition. Working a similar trick like Zanele Muholi years later, Mapplethorpes images live of the eye contact made between his subjects and his medium format camera, and consequently, the viewer. The eyes draw you in, image after image, they form the punctum, the first focal point, throwing you into the moment of the pressed shutter, into the situation, turning you into one of the kids, tête-a-tête with Marianne Faithfull. The exhibition's catalogue describes Robert Mapplethorpe's relationship with eyes, somewhat gloomily, in the following way:

"By training his camera on his eyes, and on his eyes only, Mapplethorpe has concentrated on those organs and on that faculty that determined his career. These eyes, sunk into his head and surrounded by lines, are the eyes of a sick man - Mapplethorpe was to die of an AIDS-related illness in a few months' time - but also the eyes of a brave and unflinching man, determined to outstare death."

One exception for me is Mapplethorpe's portraits of Andy Warhol where I always look at Warhol's hands first - at the awkward posture, the long white fingers fidgeting nervously. I love how these images are not controlled to the finest detail, how they encapsulate Warhol's uneasy nature - these photographs show Robert Mapplethorpe's artistry at its finest, his command of the portrait in its truest sense, candidly showing us the person, breaking them open with the camera. My favourite image is of Patti Smith, taken in Mapplethorpe's bare loft apartment. She crouches, naked, ribs showing, holding herself to heating pipes, an earnest stare underneath a nest of dark hair. She looks confident in her vulnerability, not shying away from the camera. It is a simple, but stunningly beautiful composition; the play of shapes and strong lines so beloved (and mastered) by Mapplethorpe stronger than ever. 

Patti Smith, 1976

The real surprise for me at this exhibition was the quality of the prints. Having seen a couple of shows at the Arts Centre and having squinted more than once at badly blown up digital prints in distracting lighting, the original prints acquired by the Tate constitute a lovely change. Some of them dating back to the early 1980s, they are just delightful, as they softly grasp the full potential of black and white medium format film, bringing out every shade in between the darkest black and the brightest white without drowning in either, or, even worse, in a dull grey. The swirling smoke of Robert Mapplethorpe's cigarette is just as marvelous to trace as the faintest outline of Doris Saatchi's shoulders in the gorgeous print of her portrait - let's be honest, we've all seen a version of that image in which she looked strangely decapitated by a sea of black, but not this time!

The plain framing - wooden  frames of a certain prominence - enhances the experience by subtly highlighting the element of symmetry, of lines and forms in Mapplethorpe's work; without taking over or fortifying the rigid nature of the square format which feels lofty, but not restricting here.

Doris Saatchi, 1983

It is by no means a perfect exhibition. The Tate Artist Rooms initiative is aiming to engage new audience with the works of individual artists and consequently, learning and education take priority. Education toolkits are provided on the Arts Centre website and on location, not only providing socio-cultural context and locating Mapplethorpe within a bigger arts history but issuing question and answer sets which are clearly not made for the general public, but explicitly for (young) students. It is presumably owed to this objective that what appears to be a comprehensive retrospective at first is actually missing all of Mapplethorpe's more provocative work, addressing the S&M scene and gay emancipation. Thus it eradicates some of the most pivotal, political work of Mapplethorpe, work which lifts him above being a mere chronicler of his time; and it is also a key element of his own biography missing in a display which claims to be following his life by its set-up. 

Ironically, the S&M part is, albeit swiftly, mentioned in the education kit - so when one leaves the exhibition, having loved the beautiful prints and cherished the feeling of being amongst pop culture giants for a good afternoon, one is left with the mental image of a ten year old, stumbling across two curious letters during his arts homework, innocently typing them into Google... just imagine his eyes. Imagine that boy's eyes.

Andy Warhol, 1983

PS: I actually like Taylor Swift (sometimes), and I don't dress exclusively in black (don't call me Doris). But you get the picture.

All images taken from the Tate/National Galleries of Scotland.

Pride: Review

I finally managed to watch Pride yesterday. For everyone who completely missed out on Facebook, Twitter and every relevant magazine, here's the trailer:

I was naturally curious to see it, since it's set in South Wales (where I happen to live), it's about the gay and lesbian community (which I happen to support), and it's about the struggle of the Welsh miners in that capitalist catastrophe better known as the Thatcher era. Produced by the BBC and starring a whole bunch of top actors, the film had its big debut in Cannes, and from thereon set out to conquer our hearts. 

It's a cheery little gem, this film. It just does everything right that is needed in order to give the audience a bloody good time. There are the outsiders and the oppressed, lots of fairly complex yet not overbearing characters to sympathise with. There are cleverly-written, cunning, funny lines, and there's the notorious scene highlight that includes a group of innocent women, some of them elderly, and a dildo. There's the lovely underlying message, quite a few prejudices from all sides taken on with good humour, there's the link to the real events of 1984/1985, and a heart-lifting climax. There's Dominic West and Andrew Scott as a loving couple - how can you not love them?!

It's a simple formula, I guess. Yet it works. It is such a feel-good film, it should be taught in film class at every college as the best example of the feel-good film. I can't quite put my finger on what makes Pride so special. It might be that everyone involved in making this movie really seemed to care. Or maybe it is just Dominic West and Andrew Scott, or that adorable Welsh accent. Maybe y'all should go watch the film and find out for yourselves.

(Warning: You'll find yourselves with a very possessive tune stuck in your head, and a sudden urge to show solidarity to anything around you. That's not a bad thing, mind you.)

Photo Festival Secvențe - a review

©Gabriel Amza

6th September, 2014. It's shortly after 4 pm, we're in the History Museum of Ploiești, Romania, and in less than half an hour I'm scheduled to give a talk. I've titled the presentation "Transcendence: Gender in Photography", rather optimistically, as for in my head it's more something between "the first spoken version of my blog, how exciting" and "what the f*** am I doing here". I haven't practiced. I haven't even looked at my notes twice. And to make everything even less predictable, my laptop won't work with the projector, and I don't have an USB stick.
Thanks God there's Anda. Anda is here, friendly, caring, and although she doesn't speak English very well - and my Romanian is basically non-existent - she's got a laptop, an USB stick, and she knows what she is doing.
The first page of my presentation appears on the wall. Slowly the room fills with visitors, curiously staring alternately at me or their smart phones. I'm ready to go, just waiting for the last group to flood in, and practicing opening lines in my head. 
I turn around.
The laptop is blank, and the wall dark. I have no idea what... "ANDA?"

It's the second edition of the photo festival Secvențe in Ploiești, and although it's my second time exhibiting, it's the first time I've actually made it to the town of 300,000 people south-east of the Carpathians. I'm here thanks to an invitation by festival founder and study colleague Cătălin Munteanu, and I have to say, I'm quite impressed.
Driven by Cătălin and his never tiring volunteers, the festival aims to carefully wake the curiosity for photography among the Ploieștians, and given the versatile and thought-through programs, they've got every reason to be curious. Alongside exhibitions in some of the city's most prestigious buildings, there are a street display, talks, portfolio presentations, workshops, concerts and a lantern party in the city park. And although the program is packed, my companion Mira and I never find ourselves running from one place to another; there's always time for a chat, a stroll through the park or one of the notorious pastries from that Gigi place right opposite the history museum. From a North-Western European (okay, German) point of view, Romanians practice a jolly laissez-faire in regards to time: You're 'late'? There is no such thing as 'late'. 'Ten minutes' might be thirty. Once you get the rhythm, it's truly liberating.
The exhibitions themselves are oscillating between documentary, photo art, fashion, portrait and whatever else comes to mind. It's a colourful, yet challenging mix of foreign photographers like Mira and me, and Romanians from all over the country. While in some places the exhibitions have been carefully curated, others are more motley, and they succeed or fall with the location. In the giant hall of the Cultural Palace the few photo walls seem a bit lost, and the street display is struggling with the strong winds; in the pub Conac however, the giant prints look like home. 
Given that it's only its second edition, it is only natural that Secvențe is suffering from a few infantile disorders. The funding stems mainly from Cătălin and his volunteers' pockets, so the exhibitions are kept as simple as possible (that includes tons of blue tac) and there's a disheartening lack of advertisement which leads to the larger masses ignoring the small festival. It's again the Conac that is attracting the majority of visitors, as it is also the locations for the nightly concerts. Together with the street display, it's where the audience is at. The talks and workshops are rather visited by the photographers, coming from near and far to attend the show, and the volunteers; after a few of them, you know their faces.
What I thoroughly enjoy throughout the festival is the constant exchange with these people, though. By the second afternoon, Mira and I have our 'gang', consisting of a few Romanian photographers - much needed, as they translate to us most of what is going on - and their friends. Together we discuss our projects, the state of women in the arts, Romanian history, traditional sports, studying abroad; or we simply enjoy some documentary films by a bottle of beer. As diverse the exhibitions are, as different are the people we meet: there is always something to discuss, to ask, to laugh about. Most of them are also giving a presentation, like me, and are as excited to hear feedback. Sometimes it gets as profound as it can get in photography:
"Projects are like girlfriends - they come and go", philosophises Gabriel.
- "Maybe you haven't met the right project yet!"
"Maybe there isn't the right project..."
- "You are such a slut!"
At the end of the day it's the atmosphere that makes the festival great for me. It's a good atmosphere. It's warm, summery even, the people are nice, helpful, cheerful (I have mentioned Anda, my guardian angel?). You don't have to speak Romanian, you just get along. There is so much to see, and it feels easy, accessible, even when you're from a different culture entirely.
There's a lot of space to grow in for Secvențe. The blood, sweat and tears of Cătălin and his volunteers are only to be applauded, and I really hope that Secvențe is going to continue, to make more and more people excited about photography - there really is something for everyone at this festival, and if it is just a beer and a good chat, than that's fine.

Meanwhile, back at the History Museum, I've somehow made it through the first few slides, a tour de force through gender theory, and people genuinely seem to like what I'm doing. This is the reason why I don't practice: I'm much more free, I can be responsive, I can happily shout "Gender is fun!" five times in fourty minutes - which I do, as Mira points out afterwards. When Gabriel loudly appreciates my re-telling of the gender-bending adventures of Scott Schuman, "This guy is fabulous!", I'm like f***, yeah. I'm really enjoying myself. Everything is going well. Problems? No problems. I'm in Romania, I don't speak Romanian, I'm at a photography festival talking about Gender Studies, and everyone's fine. Hello, Ploiești, nice to meet you, see you next year.

©Cătălin Munteanu

©Cristina Venedict

The included photographs are examples of work by a few of the many photographers I met during the festival. A write-up of the presentation "Transcendence: Gender in Photography", also known as "GENDER IS FUN!", will follow soon in several blogposts over the next few weeks. Keep your eyes peeled, and watch out for Secvențe!
Also, please excuse the weird font on the Romanian characters. Romanian is something that my blog, like me, sadly refuses to learn.