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| My FG-20 |
A change
occurred when I had to make transparent slides of my paintings for
submission to galleries. It was the only format they'd consider. I
had gone through this process twice before: when applying to grad
school and immediately after graduation. But I never used my own
equipment. A couple of years out of grad school, I had built up a
sizable body of new work that would have to be a part of any gallery
submission, and I thought it was high time I purchased my own
equipment and learned to make high quality reproductions of my
paintings without any assistance. Photography didn't excite me much.
It seemed very technical – something that had turned me off to
printing a decade earlier. But I really didn't have any other viable
option. As I usually do in similar circumstances, I carried out a
lot of research before making a purchase. I settled on a Nikon
FG-20, a good quality camera that came with a pretty decent standard
lens. What excited me most about this camera was that it was low
tech and permitted me to select all of my settings manually –
something critical for a control freak like me. In addition, I
bought a tripod, lighting stands and hoods and special bulbs to be
used in making Tungsten Ektachrome slides. This represented quite an
investment for someone barely eking out a living at that time.
From the
moment I purchased this camera, I began experimenting with what it
could do. Any normal person, recognizing his or her incompetence,
would begin by shooting under optimal circumstances – static
subjects lit well enough to permit an aperture small enough to
facilitate a deep depth of field and an exposure speed fast enough to
avoid blurring. One of my many character flaws is that I am unable
to start small and incrementally attain the skills required to tackle
more challenging and complicated projects; I guess I'm impatient and
want to immediately make “great” things happen. In my teens, I
thought I'd give sculpture a try – my first project was to make a
copy of the Venus de Milo. During a college critique session in Toby
Buonagurio's drawing class, she singled out one of my drawings for
particular praise and then said to me, “Something about this
assignment upset you. I could see that during our last class.” I
was surprised because I didn't think I was that transparent. I had
been irritated owing to her requirement that we students should make
a number of preparatory sketches of our subject before tackling a
more finished drawing – a perfectly reasonable and sensible request
which however contradicted my normal spontaneous process. (When
required to submit preparatory sketches, I would often complete the
finished work then fake the exploratory sketches afterwards.) I was
a little embarrassed, but I glanced up at Toby and mumbled
caveman-like, “I don't like doing preparatory sketches. I just want
to do the drawing.” She smiled and said, “Fine. You don't have
to do any more preparatory sketches.” Kudos to you, Toby, for
tolerating a stubborn and impetuous student. Perhaps I've matured a
bit since then (but I sincerely doubt it).
So after
purchasing the Nikon FG-20, I immediately wanted to test the limits
of what this device could do – kind of like getting a Maserati up
to 150 mph during a test drive. At that time, I was living in a
bizarre neighborhood located at the farthest fringes of Brooklyn. I
used to call it “the land that time forgot” because the streets
and storefronts reminded me of a set from a 1950's black and white
film noir about inner-city despair. To be merciful, I'll just call
the local population “colorful”. I began going out after dark
with my camera and tripod to take time-lapse photos of local
storefronts, street scenes and cemeteries. I shot portraits by
candlelight. I experimented with multiple exposures. I staged
surreal situations in which my subjects wore exotic costumes and
make-up and were posed before ornate backdrops performing theatrical
stunts. As you would expect, the vast majority of these photos were
utter failures. But that wasn't important. What mattered was that I
had caught the bug. I loved my camera, and my interest in
photography grew with each passing year.
Since
those initial forays, I have settled down a bit, became somewhat more
technically proficient and learned to take a successful picture. I
have documented my salad days living in New York City with my
girlfriend (now wife), our relocation to a northern suburb, my
children's development from babyhood to adulthood, a multitude of
vacations, holiday gatherings, local landscapes, posed portraits and
family pets. Quite a few years ago and somewhat reluctantly, I
transitioned to a quality digital camera after spending several days
attempting to find a photography store in NYC that still sold
Ektachrome film. Now, almost all of my paintings begin with a
carefully lit and choreographed photo-shoot during which I take
dozens of wide-angle and closeup shots in a variety of exposures
which I then print myself to use as my primary resource in the
construction of my compositions. I have painstakingly put together
an archive of nearly every painting, drawing and print that I have in
my possession – an arduous photographic enterprise that took years
to complete. On occasion, I still perform technical experiments with
my camera, hopefully achieving better results than those of my
fledgling trials. At this point, I would call myself, cautiously, an
“amateur photographer”.
As I
write these words, I recognize that this blog entry has meandered a
little further afield than I usually allow. Anyone who's read just a
few of my entries is probably painfully aware of my inclination to
take wide detours or slip down irrelevant cul-de-sacs in their
fabrication. In writing these entries, I always have a pretty good
idea of my final destination and some stops I want to make along the
way getting there, but I definitely permit myself a generous amount
of latitude in how I fill in the gaps between the station stops on my
“journeys”. I guess that's one of the benefits of writing solely
as a means of self-expression with no editor looking over my shoulder
to keep me on the right path: you gain the freedom to be a bit
erratically self-indulgent from time to time. I believe that
somewhere buried amidst all the prior verbiage is one critical
assertion: that I recognize that there exists a fairly sizable gap in
my early history during which I possess barely a single picture
documenting myself, my environs and the activities I was pursuing at
that time. I'm not sure how I feel about that. Certainly, back
then, I couldn't have cared less. But with the passage of years I've
definitely become more nostalgic about my past. And who would deny
that the twenties are a pretty important period in an individual's
lifetime – when full physical maturation is achieved and, so I am
told, creative invention reaches its zenith? I was surely energized
back then. For the first time in my life, I was living on my own and
working to support myself. I was attending grad school and
generating artwork at a pace that is absolutely unfathomable to me
today. I was dating and socializing and exploring Manhattan and
Brooklyn whenever I got the chance. They were certainly formative
years for me, and I do regret not making a minimal effort to record
their passage.
At least
that is what I understood to be my situation until a couple of weeks
ago. At that time, I began receiving periodic transmittals of
digital files from an old friend from Greece. These transmittals
arrived at irregular intervals and with little fanfare. I'd sign on
to my computer to see what was happening in the big world, and I'd
find more files waiting for me. “Holy cow!,” I'd think to myself
every time this occurred, “he actually has more files to share.”
Each transmittal represented a revelation for me, a renaissance of
memories long gone dormant never expected to be revisited again. Not
to be too rhapsodic, but the experience was really rather magical.
I think
an explanation is required.
While
completing my graduate studies at Brooklyn College in the mid-80's, I
established a close friendship with Yiorgos (Georgios) Katsagelos, a Greek
national studying photography in the college's art department. We
formed a sort of symbiotic relationship, providing perspective and
commentary on each other's artwork. Surely, during those years, we
engaged in thoughtful critiques of our individual creations and
discussions of art in general, some of the most constructive of my
career. I was drawn to Yiorgos because he opened up another world to
me. Not only was he a product of another culture, but he was dead
serious about his art and seemed to me devoid of the debilitating
egotism that infected so many of my American compatriots. I was able
to provide him with some minimal direction about art technique that
may have proved helpful as he fulfilled the college's requirement
that he take a few standard studio classes while pursuing his
concentration in photography. He helped me transport my paintings to
my reviews at the college, and, at the conclusion of our studies, he
made high quality transparencies of my work for me. But, most
importantly, we shared a friendship. Because he had a car, Yiorgos
often frequented my apartment in Brooklyn which was located in the
vicinity of the college. I visited his place in Queens and stopped
by the diner at which he worked in Manhattan. We socialized
together. I painted his girlfriend's portrait. He demonstrated to
me the entire procedure of developing and printing black and white
photographs, walking me through each step in the process, which
involved the use of multiple chemical baths and sophisticated
enlargers. He visited my parents' home on Long Island.
Throughout
this period, Yiorgos was always taking pictures. In fact, I can't
recall ever seeing him without a camera. When I take a picture,
there is a lengthy set-up process during which I adjust my exposure,
speed and light settings, frame the photo and focus the camera. If
making a portrait, my subject is painfully aware of my activities and
waiting awkwardly and impatiently for me to snap the shot. Not so
with Yiorgos. Often I had no idea that he had rapidly extracted his
camera from his bag and would glance over to find him already
recording my image. Maybe it was because this happened so regularly
and so quickly that I retained so little recollection that these
images existed. But the images do exist, and I provide below a small
sample of them. (Yiorgos assures me that there are others, but he is
moving through his oeuvre chronologically and will share additional
photos with me in the future as he continues to convert film
negatives into digital images.) Unfortunately for you, the vast
majority of these shots are of me. Hopefully, you can look beyond
the subject matter to recognize Yiorgos' artistry and appreciate how
effectively he has captured a specific time and place that we briefly
shared together.
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| 1983 -My Apartment in Kensington, Brooklyn |
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| 1983 - Kensington, Brooklyn |
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| 1983 - Kensington, Brooklyn |
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| 1983 - Kensington, Brooklyn |
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| 1983 - Loading Paintings into Yiorgos' Car for First Brooklyn College Review |
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| 1983 - With Pat at the Brooklyn College Subway Stop |
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| 1983 - Yiorgos in Downtown Manhattan (My photo using Yiorgos' Equipment) |
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| 1983 - Kensington, Brooklyn |
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| 1983 - Exterior, Kensington Apartment |
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| 1983 - 57th Street Subway Stop |
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| 1983 - Yiorgos' Apartment in Astoria, Queens |
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| 1983 - Enjoying some Liquid Refreshment with Cecilia |
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| 1984 - Elmhurst, Queens |
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| 1984 - Elmhurst, Queens |
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| 1984 - Elmhurst, Queens |
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| 1984 - My Final Review at Brooklyn College |
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| 1984 - My Mother, West Islip |
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| 1984 - Fire Island, LI |
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| 1988 - Thessaloniki, Greece |
When I first started writing this blog, one of my earliest entries described Yiorgos' career and provided a sample of his work. That was back in 2013. When I decided that it was time for an update, I thought it would be a good idea to gather some further background information about his development as an artist and the many accomplishments he has achieved. He provided to me a current resume and extensive documentation from a solo exhibition of his work from 2017. In addition to providing those materials, Yiorgos graciously agreed to participate in a Skype interview arranged by me during which a few fascinating aspects of his professional evolution were explored. It was truly a great pleasure to see and talk with Yiorgos after many years of separation.
Yiorgos'
interest in photography began when he got his first camera at the age
of ten. Years later, when he attended the University of
Thessaloniki, he studied physics. While pursuing his academic
studies, he continued to investigate photography on his own –
basically relying on a few essential books he was able to get his
hands on. Though his interest in photography became paramount during
this time, he was unable to study it formally; it was not an area of
study offered by universities in Greece. Though he increasingly
became convinced that photography was his overriding interest, he was
persuaded by his father to complete his degree in physics. Upon
graduation, he was able to put together a portfolio of work of such
quality that he gained access to Brooklyn College's Master's Program
in Photography – quite a feat for a self-taught artist. One
condition of his acceptance was a requirement that he complete a
number of undergraduate art courses while working on his master's
degree. And, of course, it was during these days that our paths
crossed.
Upon
graduation, Yiorgos returned to Greece. It was distressing to be
separated from both a friend and an intellectual resource at that
time, but Yiorgos was able to establish quite a successful career in
his homeland. He has held numerous prestigious positions at art
museums and schools. He has exhibited in Greece, Italy, Germany,
Serbia, Armenia, Georgia, Sweden, Romania, Japan and the USA, and his
work is included in permanent collections within Europe and North
America. He has received awards and prizes from Greece, Russia,
Uzbekistan and Japan.
Certainly,
accolades and prestigious situations are tangible indications of a
productive career, but I believe that a quality within Yiorgos'
constitution, which was blatantly apparent even during our days at
school together, let's call it a friendliness or generosity of spirit
or an ability to empathize with the plight of others, is surely his
most valuable and admirable asset. Without any motive, Yiorgos
projects a welcoming warmth that immediately allays suspicion and
disarms even the most wary individual. I remember seeing photographs
he took back in grad school of inner-city children... of weary
workers... of disfigured strangers and wondering how he was able to
secure their apparently willing cooperation in his endeavors. I
believe his subjects could sense that he posed no threat to them...
that his intentions were good... that he had no wish to exploit them.
(I recall that, when I once attempted to photograph a homeless man
in NYC's Chinatown, he threatened to beat me with a stick and tried
to extort money from me.) Since leaving New York, Yiorgos has
traveled the world and, wherever he goes, has documented the
circumstances of peoples impoverished, underrepresented, marginalized
and unempowered. During our Skype interview, I asked him if he sees
himself as a successor to the Social Realism movement in art. I had
in mind artists of the 1920's and 30's like Dorothea Lange, Ben
Shahn, Jacob Lawrence and Thomas Hart Benton who championed unions
and exposed poverty, racial injustice and joblessness in
Depression-Era America. He responded that he felt the association
was a reasonable one.
My
intention was to provide here a survey of Yiorgos' photography
completed since my last entry on his work. But Yiorgos shared with
me a sizable selection of work which dealt specifically with the
impact of the refugee crisis in northern Greece that was so extensive
and representative of his oeuvre that I felt no need to widen my
review.
First,
permit me to provide a little background on the refugee crisis. The
year 2015 saw a large increase in the number of refugees hoping to
cross into Europe from the Middle East, Asia and Africa. The reasons
for this are numerous but the increase was predominantly the result
of the Syrian civil war, the rise of the Taliban and ISIS in
Afghanistan and Iraq and instability in Libya. While in the past the
majority of refugees crossed the Mediterranean by boat (most commonly
landing in Italy), in 2015 a land route through the Balkan corridor
became preferred. This meant that asylum seekers and migrants
generally passed from Turkey through Greece and into Macedonia.
These peoples were channeled through the village of Idomeni in
northern Greece before passing into Macedonia. At first, the
refugees were permitted to move fairly freely across the border since
many European nations were offering asylum to them. But then,
primarily as a response to a series of terrorist attacks in Europe,
the processing of refugees slowed as documentation was more
thoroughly vetted and eventually asylum was only offered to migrants
from a restricted number of nations. Makeshift refugee camps
populated by individuals and families waiting to be approved for
passage were established at Idomeni. As the evaluation of asylum
applications slowed and some migrants found they were altogether
ineligible for consideration, frustrations mounted resulting in
demonstrations, hunger strikes and episodes of violence. Ultimately,
in June of 2016, the border was closed to all migrants.
In
August 2015, Yiorgos first traveled to the camps at Idomeni located
about 50 miles north of his home. After that first exposure, he
visited them on a nearly daily basis with no other intent than to
document the circumstances of these individuals trapped in a limbo of
uncertainty and to record developments as “civilized” governments
struggled to find a way to deal with them. I'm not sure how many
pictures he actually took, but, from the numbering of the vast
selection of photographs with which he provided me, it appears to be
thousands. While going through the extremely difficult task of
paring down his selection to something usable for this blog entry, I
carefully examined literally several hundred photographs – going
through the entire selection multiple times. Each time I reviewed
his work, I became more and more impressed with the quality of his
photographs and recognized how thoroughly he exposed so many of the
facets that defined this crisis – without straying into hyperbole
or sentimentality. First, one cannot deny that these pictures are
“beautiful”, displaying a comprehensive mastery of the craft of
photography. I look at some of them and cannot fathom how it was
possible to capture an unstaged, active moment in low light while
maintaining so expansive a depth of field. And I recognize that
calling a photograph that documents despair and suffering “beautiful”
may seem incongruous, however I do find these photographs to be
extremely beautiful – I guess in the way that Hieronymous Bosch's
Last Judgment,
for example, is
beautiful regardless of the subject matter. But, as I touched upon
earlier, what truly makes these photographs extraordinary is Yiorgos'
ability to gain access to forbidden niches, establish a connection
with his subjects and devise a means to express their most intimate
and genuine emotions. It is incomprehensible to me how some of these
images were captured: children optimistically grinning for the camera
regardless of their discomfit and distress; a mother courageously
corralling her brood about her; a dignified family group perched on
crates and obscured by a screen of smoke rising from the ashes of a
dying fire; the closeup of a man so broken by his situation that he
has lost all hope; the irrepressible joy that erupts during a moment
shared with a family group. I hope you will take a moment to make a
serious examination of these photos. They really are exceptional.
In June
2016, the police in a surprise commando operation removed the
migrants from the camps at Idomeni. The action was so swift that
people barely had time to gather their belongings, and many personal
items were inadvertently left behind in the chaos. After the
operation was completed, reporters and photographers were permitted
to enter the now deserted camps. Yiorgos was shocked at the number
of items, particularly toys, that the migrants were forced to abandon
during the evacuation. He collected over 500 items and took them
with him. From May to September 2017, Yiorgos exhibited 350 of those
items encased in plexiglas boxes at the State Museum of Contemporary
Art of Thessaloniki. The show was called Relics
to eternity /Idomeni 2015-2016.
Between
his photographic documentation and his exhibition of objects, Yiorgos
has provided a moving and elegant record of this brief collision of
peoples that occurred in the north of Greece. Of course, we must
recognize that the economic disparity and social instability that
fueled such an encounter are not unique to this individual situation.
They impact on international relations throughout the world and, on
the most intimate level, truly define how individuals within
communities interact. I really appreciate Yiorgos' willingness to
become involved in a situation he could easily have ignored and his
eagerness to share with a larger audience his experiences of the
crisis.
In
closing, I don't want to leave you with the impression that Yiorgos
and I went our separate ways once he returned to Greece after grad
school. That simply isn't the case. My girlfriend and I visited him
and his then pregnant wife in Thessaloniki in 1988, and he stayed
with us and our young family years later at our home in Upstate New
York. We've never been out of touch completely, though there have
been some years when our link is more tenuous than others. Over the
years, birth announcements, holiday greetings and exhibit notices
have crossed the Atlantic at irregular intervals. The advent of
social media has certainly made long distance communications more
immediate and convenient, so we can now share regular glimpses into
the mundane (and hopefully, on occasion, not so
mundane) activities in which we're engaged. I'm optimistic that we
will get together again in the future. Perhaps, when my wife stops
working, she and I will visit Greece a second time, or Yiorgos'
career will bring him back to America once again. It's not
impossible. Though this entry has touched upon the topics of
photography, my own and Yiorgos' personal histories and an
international crisis, it essentially serves as a testament to the
nature of friendship which endures regardless of the passage of time
or miles of separation.
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| Yiorgos and Me in the Brooklyn College Men's Room |
As
always, I encourage my readers to comment here, but, if anyone
prefers to respond privately, I can be contacted at
gerardwickham@gmail.com.
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