I went along to see David Baily’s Stardust
exhibition at the National Portrait gallery earlier this week. I went because I
sort of felt that I ought to. I like
photographing people; DB is one of the most, if not the most, successful British portrait photographers during the
second half of last century. Certainly,
he is iconic and huge in terms of status and reputation: an almost mythological
figure that grew out of the legendary 60s, and who took photographs of extraordinary
characters such as the Crays, Jean Shrimpton, Twiggi, along with pretty much every
single rock star spawned during that iconic decade.
I looked forward to the exhibition but was also
somewhat uneasy about the whole celebrity angle. I’m not all that interested in fame as such, although
of course, these figures are beguiling and compelling regardless. It would probably be tricky to find a
passport snap of Kate Moss uninteresting, never mind David Baily’s beautiful
portraits of her. Perhaps that’s what
troubles me - the fact that we are (read I am) so easily drawn into stories and
fables about people we don’t really know, people who seem so exciting,
untouchable and unreal, but who are ultimately just human beings like anyone
else. And even though Baily and some of
his subjects see and are aware of the ‘absurdity and poignancy of the human
condition[1]’
I find the current obsession with focusing on and attempting to emulate such
people irritating at best but otherwise an immensely destructive and shallow
part of our collective culture. I’m not
the only one as the following description of Baily’s thoughts on his
portraiture indicate he sees the work as,‘[2]a
subtle mixture of subjectivity and objectivity, and (with) an understanding
that images of glamorous individuals were potentially both powerful and empty”.
Contemporary criticism was a little more
scathing: [3]Malcolm
Muggeridge, for the Observer, said “The camera, the most characteristic and
sinister innovation of our time, has ushered in – perhaps, better, crystalised
– a religion of narcissism of which photographers such as Mr. Baily are high
priests.”
It’s difficult not to see Mr. Muggridge’s
words as reactionary, somewhat old fashioned and a little extreme especially
when you compare David Baily’s extraordinarily well-crafted work with today’s tsunami
of blurry and wobbly selfies, but perhaps there is something about his alarm
worth considering, if only about the direction of our society. I have just read Jean Twenge and W. Keith
Campbells book The Narcissism Epidemic,
which focuses mainly on American culture but is relevant to all Western culture
to a greater or lesser extent, and argues that today’s rampant culturally
indoctrinated narcissism (my son declares “I am Awesome" under his handle on
his twitter account and thinks this is normal) started in the late ‘60s/early
‘70s: [4]“The
American flag of self admiration slowly began to unfurl in the 1960s.” and “By
the 1970’s the communal goals of the ‘60s had dissipated and only the gaudy,
empty shell of self-focus remained.”
It is of course unfair in retrospect to see
David Baily as the high priest of any cultural narcissistic malaise especially
as he seems to explore, question and critique the phenomena rather than merely
celebrate it. Nevertheless meandering around
a room filled with enormous images of famous faces made me feel a little
disconnected and empty as I wondered what I was going to talk about for this
blog entry. Even the more
anthropological images didn’t grab my attention and I’m fascinated by most
things ethnography related.
Happily, I learnt that David Baily is about
a great deal more than celebrity and I was soon made aware of this during my
visit. My interest was sparked when I
entered the room where his family portraits are displayed. These are in the main of Catherine Baily, his
wife and muse since the early 80s, but include many of his children too. Certainly any of the photographs of pregnancy
and the birth are appealing but then such scenes always make me emotional. What was so powerful about this family’s collection
was that there were so many of them, placed seemingly sporadically (unlike the
uniformity of images in the other rooms), small and large and if I remember
correctly mostly in black and white.
There were images of tiny newborns being held by older siblings, and
his wife in the act of giving birth along with a picture of her just yelling,
her hands stretched out in such an unmistakable way. There is something about these photos that makes
them incredibly intimate, touching and for me very beautiful. They were like a window into a family. The style is far less contrasty than the
large square formats of famous faces. I
recall them being mainly low key although that may just be an impression. There is no glare, none of the usual in your
face brashness.
The other photographs I found really compelling were the ones of other photographers and artists. I don’t remember there being a special room for these, perhaps I am wrong. I just remember being struck by images that were striking and surprising, as they seemed to stand out from the others. The commentary in the books talks of empathy and there certainly does seem to be much of this, especially with images of Man Ray, Manuel Alvarez Bravo, Fancis Bacon, Brassaï, Bill Brandt, Jaques-Henri Lartigue, André Kertész and of course Brian Duffy, one of his cohorts from his early days. But as well as empathy there seems to be a deep comraderie, a connection and a palpable conversation that I didn’t find in the other portraits. I notice that these photographs are all of men and there is something very grizzly and male and separate from me, a woman, about them. Not necessarily a bad thing, just something tangible that I noticed. In any event these images really stood out for me.
The East End photographs also had an authenticity that struck me. I found the Rio Club, 1968 extremely interesting and unusual. The composition is so daring and the TV set looks like it is about to fall on the man sitting below and crush him. He looks so innocent. I also thought The Dragon Club, Whitechapel 1968 showed us something foreboding and dangerous, the black shadow that cuts into the image seems to be suggesting something will devour the rest of the scene soon, is already eating into it, into the black and white image of innocent children on the wall, which are captured and frozen in an earlier photograph. Again the composition is bold and although rigorous it is not an easy composition, putting us on edge. These photographs were part of a series of coloured photographs for the Sunday Times Magazine in 1968 for an article called East End Faces.
Finally, I was touched by the photographs of Sudanese children, taken when other famous faces from the celebrity world used their reputation and influence to raise funds and awareness for LiveAid. [5]There has been some criticism in recent years of this well known project and some of the arguments are difficult to dismiss but when I looked at the photographs taken by Baily I was, even today after we have been inured to such images due to the frequency with which we are shown them, filled with horror and anger that we humans can allow starvation like this to occur. In particular, the photograph of a hand next to a tiny starving infant is simply shocking and horrifying, and it was these images that contributed to the groundswell of Western abhorrence.
One of the images did trouble me. A tiny starving child with a skull for a head and a skeleton for a body is rendered beautiful by the lighting, tones and composition. This is a perennial question – is it right to use someone else’s suffering for the purposes of art? Photographers in particular are ‘guilty’ if indeed one believes it is morally questionable to create artistic expression out of misery and suffering.
Baily has always been interested in skulls, has always taken photographs of them and there are several still life images featuring skulls in the exhibition. [6]“‘We end up as art, as sculpture, in a funny sort of way. It’s the ultimate self-art. It’s like “destruction art”, isn’t it?’ Baily observes.” I couldn’t help but make the connection between his fascination for skulls in one room and the photograph of an ephemeral child made to look hauntingly beautiful whom in all likelihood died from starvation soon after the photo was taken. Did she unwittingly end up as art as she was dying.
Tim Marlow in his introduction to the book Baily’s Stardust printed by the National
Portrait Gallery includes a quote that talks about Baily’s fondness of relying
on ‘The accidental nature of the universe” much like the [7]Dadaists
and Surrealists. It was an accident that
I read a book about our narcissistic culture which looked in some detail at the
current obsession with celebrity and where this started, and then went to see
one of the icons whom, it could be argued, contributed in some way, good or
bad, to the beginning of this current trend.
But what I have learned whilst visiting this exhibition is that David
Baily is about a great deal more than his celebrity photographs. He has a broad and eclectic collection of
work behind him and before him if he keeps working, which I believe he plans
to. Whenever I mentioned I’d been to see
his work to friends, they commented on how good looking he once was. He cannot be separated from that early image,
the 60s icon, one of the very few in reality who were actually there on the King’s Road or in Carnaby Street making
legends. (I think that particular 60s
only happened to a handful of people at most.) That history feeds into how we
see and perceive his work and him, but I have learned that he is a hugely
rounded artist and a pivotal recorder and photographic commentator of late 20th
century culture.
Incidentally, I have and continue to take
photos of actors some of whom may well be famous one day if they’re not on
their way already. Not sure yet if
family or actor’s headshots and publicity is the way forward for me, perhaps
both, who knows? Either way though, I
make myself laugh with my slightly disdainful stance on celebrity!
[1] Page 12, Baily’s Stardust, introductory essay by Tim Marlow,
published by National Portrait Gallery, 2014.
[2] Page 12, Baily’s Stardust, introductory essay by Tim Marlow,
published by National Portrait Gallery, 2014.
[3] Page 192, Baily’s Stardust, Box of Pin Ups section, published by
National Portrait Gallery, 2014.
[4] Page 60 & 62, The Narcissism Epidemic Living in the Age of
Entitlement, Jean Twenge PH. D. and W. Keith Campbell PH. D., Atria Paperback,
2009, First Paperback Edition, 2013
[5] http://www.theguardian.com/world/2005/jun/24/g8.debtrelief
Here one of a number of voices expressing doubt about how much good Live Aid
and subsequent similar activity has actually done for Sub-Saharan Africa, which
is poorer now than ever.
[6] Page 261, Baily’s Stardust, introductory essay by Tim Marlow,
published by National Portrait Gallery, 2014.
[7] Dada & Surrealism, Matthew Gale, Phaidon, Page 63, about Hans
Arp ‘The most revolutionary of Arp’s collages were those made “according to the
laws of chance”’.
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