Mark Cohen - Dark Knees Exhibition Proposal

Page 1

EXHIBITION PROPOSAL

MARK COHEN DARK KNEES

SEPTEMBER 27 - DECEMBER, 8 2013 AT LE BAL NOVEMBER 8, 2014 - JANUARY 11, 2015 AT THE NEDERLANDS FOTOMUSEUM


MARK COHEN - DARK KNEES is the first major show of the American photographer Mark Cohen in Europe. Co-produced by Le BAL, in Paris and The Nederlands Fotomuseum in Rotterdam, the work has been curated by Diane Dufour and Frits Gierstberg, in collaboration with Rose Gallery, Santa Monica. The exhibition is presented at Le BAL in Paris from September 27 to was 8, 2013 and at the Nederlands Fotomuseum in Rotterdam from November 8 2014 to January 11 2015. Le BAL and The NFI are looking for a new venue for the exhibition. The show is available in Spring / Summer 2014 and in Spring / Summer 2015. Mark Cohen’s exhibition consists of 131 prints, including 113 unique vintage prints: 16 Dye Transfer prints (35.5 x 43.1 cm), 7 C-prints (40.6 x 50.8 cm) and 108 Gelatin Silver prints (40.6 x 50.8 cm and 27.9 x 35.5 cm). All the prints are framed with white wood with glass and crated.

Mark Cohen was born in 1943 in Wilkes-Barre, a small mining town in Pennsylvania. He’d had a camera since he was a kid, and his own basement darkroom at 14. He saw a copy of CartierBresson’s “The Decisive Moment” in high school and, he says, “then that was it. College was a detail.” He spent a semester at the Rhode Island School of Design with Harry Callahan and Aaron Siskind, who invited him to teach there too. But Wilkes-Barres pulled him back: “I felt like I wasn’t done there.” He was operating a busy photo studio, shooting weddings, annual reports–“all the hack work I could do to support this other stuff.” Leaving that work behind and heading out onto the streets of Wilkes- Barre to make brusque, brilliant, very different pictures–photographs that didn’t need to please anyone but himself–was clearly liberating. In 1973, John Szarkowski presented his first solo show at the MoMA. Two years later, his color work was exhibited at the George Eastman House in Rochester. Over the past 40 years Mark Cohen has walked the length and breadth of the streets in and around his hometown, extracting fragments of gestures, postures, and bodies. Mark Cohen slices and sculpts the very thick of the world to impose, in successive touches, a Kafkaesque vision, ruthless and poetic. Repetitive to the verge of obsession, he has no idea what brought him there or what he hopes to find. Rather he is driven by the beauty of a chance encounter, by the torments or delights he detects in another’s substance. There is, in the brutality of his gaze, a rawness, an ambivalence and a grace through which the making of a photo becomes the expression of a revelation.









co-produced by Le BAL and the Nederlands Fotomuseum in Rotterdam

the exhibition

Š Pascal Martinez


co-produced by Le BAL and the Nederlands Fotomuseum in Rotterdam

the exhibition

Š Pascal Martinez


co-produced by Le BAL and the Nederlands Fotomuseum in Rotterdam

the exhibition

Š Pascal Martinez


co-produced by Le BAL and the Nederlands Fotomuseum in Rotterdam

the exhibition

Š Pascal Martinez


co-produced by Le BAL and the Nederlands Fotomuseum in Rotterdam

the exhibition

Š Pascal Martinez


co-produced by Le BAL and the Nederlands Fotomuseum in Rotterdam

the exhibition

Š Pascal Martinez


the book

Hardcover (cloth) 170 x 240 mm 188 pages 169 photographs B&W and color photographs Bilingual book French/English ISBN : 978-2-36511-042-6 45 â‚Ź

co-published by Editions Xavier Barral / Le BAL, 2013

The book MARK COHENDARK KNEES has been published on the occasion on the exhibition, by LE BAL and Editions Xavier Barral.




There’s a rude, restless energy to Mark Cohen’s work that feels frantic and a little alarming. His camera is a hit-and-run vehicle, swerving so close to his subjects that he often chops off more body parts than he can fit into his tight frame, leaving only knees, necks, bare torsos, grasping hands. Even his still lifes are volatile, unstable. That spoon, that playing card, that shredded piece of white bread, that lump of dirty snow--why do they seem so alien? Like Luis Buñuel and David Lynch, Cohen sees the world askew; here, everyday reality proves unreliable and even ordinary objects look freaky. This is Wilkes-Barre, the once thriving, now depressed Pennsylvania coal town and industrial hub Cohen has always called home, seen through the photographer’s shattered looking glass. Cohen appreciates the way a photographer’s work can come to define a city: Atget’s Paris, Sudek’s Prague, William Klein’s New York. But that’s not what he’s up to. His Wilkes-Barre isn’t an example of urban America in decline (although some pictures could be read that way), it’s a mindscape, an abstraction all the more compelling for its dreamlike specificity. Starting out, Cohen was drawn to the work of the engaged photojournalists of the 1930s. “I would have loved to have been like Dorothea Lange-socially concerned,” he says. “But when I was trapped in WilkesBarre for the next fifty years, I became a surrealist because I kept walking around the same blocks, and I started taking a picture of a guy‘s shoe. I didn’t know what I was doing exactly. I was just being led by whatever I would see.” But don’t listen to him. By the time he took most of the photographs here, Cohen knew exactly what he was doing. He’d taken full control of an out-of-control style--a style that feeds as much on apprehension as aggression. Maybe that’s why his pictures rarely feel fixed or frozen; instead, they’re vibrating, alive, like the stuck frame of a movie that could start back up at any second. In a sense, he’s not a still photographer, he’s a filmmaker,

always alert, buzzed on adrenaline. His cast of characters is mostly people on the street--hanging out, passing by, in their car. There are few remnants of the socially concerned photographer left in Cohen’s work, but his street work connects him to another photographic tradition and the long history of hyper-observant flâneurs that includes Walker Evans, Lisette Model, Helen Levitt, Robert Frank, and Garry Winogrand. Like many of these artists, his subjects tend to be poor and working-class--people more likely to live their lives out in public, on stoops and street corners. But Cohen isn’t especially interested in the theater of the street-the sort of charged, poetic tableaux that were Levitt‘s specialty-or the social circumstances of his subjects, many of whom are headless and seen only in fragments. His images are more visceral--sometimes harsh, sometimes comic--with an impact not unlike Weegee’s or today’s shark-like paparazzi. Cohen may not be ruthless, and he’s never mean, but he’s hungry, and he‘ll take what he can get. No matter how many times he’s prowled these streets, he doesn’t allow himself (or his audience) to get too comfortable; his uneasiness, his anxiety sharpens the work and keeps it raw. And he’s not just kidding when he describes himself as a surrealist. There’s something hallucinatory about much of his work, especially his still life photographs, which recall Man Ray‘s dust, Brassaï‘s detritus, and some of the odder images of Raoul Ubac, Roger Parry, and Wols. But Cohen also has a real affinity with vernacular photography-the sort of anonymous, outsider work that’s migrated from the flea market to the museum in recent years. The sort of amateurish accidents that pique vernacular connoisseurs’ interest--brutal cropping, tilted framing, alarming close-ups--have come to define Cohen’s visual vocabulary. Mostly, this is the result of working fast and non-stop. “They are really accidental,” Cohen insists, “because that’s the way I take ‘em. My flash pictures would create negatives that were almost impossible to print. They’re made in a very accidental, serendipitous way. I take it quick and the


exposure’s probably wrong, and the kid runs away or the lady goes down the street….” It’s no accident that Cohen decided to turn the cockeyed results into a signature style. He wasn’t working entirely on instinct. He’d had a camera since he was a kid, and his own basement darkroom at 14. He saw a copy of Cartier-Bresson’s “The Decisive Moment” in high school and, he says, “then that was it. College was a detail”. He spent a semester at the Rhode Island School of Design with Harry Callahan and Aaron Siskind, who invited him to teach there too. But Wilkes-Barres pulled him back: “I felt like I wasn’t done here.” At the same time he was making pictures on the street, and for more than thirty years, he was operating a busy photo studio, shooting weddings and formal portraits, producing annual reports--“all the hack work I could do to support this other stuff”. Leaving that work behind and heading out onto the streets of Wilkes-Barre to make brusque, brilliant, very different pictures--photographs that didn’t need to please anyone but himself--was clearly liberating. Freed from the conventional shot, the static frame, the polite subject, he went a little wild. And then reigned it in. His spontaneity has been honed to a fine point. He knows there’s still something “inappropriate” about many of his pictures--he’s too close, too in your face--but that’s what’s thrilling about the work. His pictures don’t let us relax and pretend we know what we’re doing here. Like him, we’re at home, but we’re still a stranger in a strange land. Vince Aletti, August 2013 Text published in «MARK COHEN - DARK KNEES» (Editions Xavier Barral / Le BAL, 2013)


Small hand and ball, 1987, Dye Transfer Print (printed later)

Woman with red lips smoking, 1975, Dye Transfer Print (printed later)

Pink jump rope, 1975, Dye Transfer Print (printed later)

Girl holding blackberries, 2008, Dye Transfer Print (printed later)

Red fence, 1987, Dye Transfer Print (printed later)

One red glove, 1975, Dye Transfer Print (printed later)

Girl and man at road, 1975, Dye Transfer Print (printed later)

Boy in yellow shirt smoking, 1977, Dye Transfer Print (printed later)

Legs and boy in pool, 1977, Dye Transfer Print (printed later)

Girl with bat and ball, 1977, Dye Transfer Print (printed later)

 

  

  

  

  

Woman in scarf, 1975, Dye Transfer Print (printed later)

 

 

 

 

 

Small hand by yellow shirt, 1975, Dye Transfer Print (printed later)

Improvised beach, 1975, Dye Transfer Print (printed later)

 

  

 

  

 

Shirtless boy with chain, 1975, Dye Transfer Print (printed later)

Young girl at beach, 1977, Dye Transfer Print (printed later)

Yellow bathing suit, 1977, Dye Transfer Print (printed later)

Barnsiding, 1971, Vintage Gelatin Silver Print

Wooden stakes in pile, 1971, Vintage Gelatin Silver Print

Man on porch sofa, 1973, Vintage Gelatin Silver Print

E, 1974, Vintage Gelatin Silver Print

  

  

 



Man and emerging nurse, 1969, Vintage Gelatin Silver Print

Flashed wrapped bundle, 1971, Vintage Gelatin Silver Print

Clouds and tree and wall, 1971, Vintage Gelatin Silver Print

Isaac’s shadow with balloon, 1974, Vintage Gelatin Silver Print

 

 

  

  

 

Women on sidewalk, n.d., Vintage Gelatin Silver Print

Piles of paper, 1972, Vintage Gelatin Silver Print

Girl in jungle gym, 1970, Vintage Gelatin Silver Print

Man playing pinball, 1970, Vintage Gelatin Silver Print

  

  



 

 

Raindrops / woman relighting, 1976, Vintage Gelatin Silver Print

Man flinching, 1969, Vintage Gelatin Silver Print

Women holding hands, 1972, Vintage Gelatin Silver Print

Step and rain drops, 1977, Gelatin Silver Print (printed later)

  

  

 

 

 

 




 

 

 

  

 

  

  

  

  

  

  

 

  

 

  

 



  

  

  

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

  

  

 

 

  

    

  

 

 

 

  

 



 

 

 

  

 

 

 

  

  

 

 

   

   

 

  

  

 

 


Cohen has published three monographs, Grim Street (powerHouse Books, 2005), True Color (powerHouse Books, 2007), and Italian Riviera (Punctum Press, 2008).

Š Pascal Martinez

MARK COHEN Biography

Mark Cohen was born in 1943 in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania. In 1969, he took part in the group show Vision and Expression curated by Nathan Lyons at the George Eastman House in Rochester. In 1971 Cohen received a Guggenheim Fellowship to continue his work in Wilkes-Barre and its surroundings. John Szarkowski devoted a solo show to him at the Museum of Modern Art, New York in 1973, which then toured to the Light Gallery, Castelli Graphics, the Whitney Museum of American Art in New York, the Corcoran Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C., and the Art Institute of Chicago. In 1975, William Jenkins commissioned Cohen to produce a body of work in color. This series, True Color, was exhibited at the George Eastman House the following year. In 1975 Cohen received a National Endowment for the Arts Fellowship and in 1976 his second Guggenheim Fellowship. In 1978, he took part in the exhibition Mirrors and Windows: American Photography since 1960.


2

....

| THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 21, 2013

INTERNATIONAL NEW YORK TIMES

page two IN YOUR WORDS Afghans want U.S. to admit errors Is there no sense of shame in continuing to shed blood and waste treasure in a country that has failed to use a decade of U.S. military and economic support to defeat the Taliban, reduce corruption, and give its people, particularly its women, a better way of life? Time to leave, and if not, this will leave President Obama with an infamous legacy.

Fragmented images

A farewell befitting his dignity

P I N EWO O D, A L E X A N D R I A , V I R G I N IA

Afghanistan is another part of our program of continuous warfare, the forever war. The military-industrial complex is in control, augmented by the explosion of homeland security spending, and they ain’t letting go. Note, too, that was the condition in the novel Nineteen Eighty-Four . . . continuous warfare against amorphous enemies as one means to control the population at home.

Manu Joseph LE T TE R F R O M I N D I A

T H I ER N O, Z U R I C H

Iran talks strain U.S.-Israel ties The effects of diplomacy are so difficult to judge because its victories are usually defined by what does not happen. The United States is understandably wary of being drawn by Israel into a bloody and unnecessary war against Iran. It is clear that this is the aim of Mr. Netanyahu and his American surrogates. These efforts must be resisted. MI KE MU R R AY, OL N E Y, I L L I N OI S

Most of the world is willing these talks to succeed, not because they are anti-Israel but because they welcome the thought of 80 million Iranians joining the world community and enjoying a fair standard of living. C AR S AF R I C A, C A L I FOR N I A

See what readers are talking about and leave your own comments at inyt.com

IN OUR PAGES 1938 Killer Frets Over Lack of Soap VE RSAI LLES Eugen Weidmann, slayer

of Jean de Koven, American dancer, and killer of five others, is worrying more about the scarcity of soap in the Prison of Saint Pierre at Versailles, where he is confined, than about the issue of the trial next February when his head will be at stake. Soap in French prisons is a luxury accessible only to prisoners supplied with money. Weidmann, who will rank in criminal annals as one of the great massmurderers of modern times, has no illusions regarding his fate. He is resigned to an inevitable death sentence and execution by the guillotine.

1963 Anne Frank’s Captor Found VI E NNA A Jewish investigator has tracked down the man responsible for the arrest of Anne Frank, whose wartime experiences were immortalized in a diary written before her death in a Nazi extermination camp. An Austrian Interior Ministry spokesman identified the man today [Nov. 20] as Karl Silberbauer, 52, an inspector in the Vienna police force, and said he has been suspended from his post pending an investigation. Silberbauer reportedly told Austrian officials that the Amsterdam Gestapo had been tipped off by a Dutch informer about the family’s hideout.

Find a retrospective of news from 1887 to 2013 in The International Herald Tribune at iht-retrospective.blogs.nytimes.com

TOP, MARK COHEN; ABOVE, MARK COHEN/COURTESY ROSEGALLERY

B I T S A N D P I ECES Over the past 40 years, the photographer Mark Cohen has walked the length and breadth of the streets in and around his hometown, Wilkes-Barre, a former mining town in northeastern Pennsylvania. He has captured gestures, postures and bodies, from smiling children to

thinly sketched limbs to coats worn like protective cloaks, according to Le Bal, a gallery of the visual arts in Paris that is presenting an exhibition of his work through Dec. 8. The show includes these two photographs from 1975, ‘‘Bubblegum, Wilkes-Barre,’’ top, and ‘‘pink jumprope.’’

Charlotte Zolotow, 98; lent deeper feeling to children’s books BY MARGALIT FOX

Present’’ (1962), the story of a girl’s

deepest feelings, she often said, was

The result was Mr. Zindel’s widely

ized that they loved him even more than they had thought. On Saturday, when the great Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar, at the age of 40, bid farewell to cricket after an extraordinary career that spanned 24 years, men and women wept without shame as their children wondered why. Mr. Tendulkar’s passing from active play to history had the sweet melancholy of mortality’s reminders. He reminded a generation that they were young once, and now they were not. Over the past two decades, Indians had an intense relationship with him. They adored him, abused him, doubted his genius, accused him of being selfish and over the past two years nudged him to retire. And when he finally did they discovered that they had never really stopped loving him. Mr. Tendulkar, like many luminaries, is more famous than the awards that have been showered on him. On Saturday, when the Indian government conferred on him its highest ciThe cricket vilian honor, the star Sachin Bharat Ratna, it was Tendulkar as if he were the honwas incapable or and the Bharat of vacant Ratna the recipient. His retirement was posturing. one of the most significant events in India in recent years, but as the great day loomed, journalists found planning the final tribute nightmarish. So much has already been written that even articles with headlines like ‘‘10 Things You Didn’t Know About Sachin’’ could not deliver a single grain of information that was not known to a regular cricket fan. Mr. Tendulkar began playing international cricket at a time when a team of Indians, not just in sports but in any activity, did not display a uniformity of talent, temperament, class or even nourishment. The disparities came about because Indians then were products not of systems but of individual fortunes. By the time he retired, the distinctions among players, at least in sports, had become subtler, as if everyone were produced in a single factory with only slightly different specifications. Mr. Tendulkar’s appeal is in no small measure a consequence of his quiet dignity, which is more representative of South India than North. Though in a way he belongs to neither, as he is from Mumbai, which North Indians think is in the South and South Indians think is in the North. He was incapable of chestthumping, bravado or vacant posturing. Public perception was so important to him that he chose his words carefully and was wary of being misunderstood. Once, after an interview, he called past midnight to ask the deletion of a comment about an insignificant cricket team because he had described it as ‘‘minor.’’ He knew that Indians expected him to maintain exceptional moral standards even though Indian society ensures that no person with such standards can survive. A few years ago, he told The Times of India that he could not own a home of his own because he could not find a ‘‘good place with a clean deal,’’ in which the seller would not demand cash payment to obscure the actual price and thus save on taxes. But, eventually, he did. Among the numerous stories that were rolled out in the news media to commemorate Mr. Tendulkar’s departure was one in The Indian Express by Bharat Sundaresan. The story profiled

International New York Times, November 21, 2013

There will never be a war without collateral damage. President Karzai should recall his memory about the Taliban era and once for all appreciate the heavy sacrifice of the U.S.

press clippings

NEW DELHI In the end, Indians real-

B O B G AR C I A, M I A M I


The Guardian online, October 22, 2013

press clippings


The Guardian online, October 22, 2013

press clippings


EXPOSITION

Votre abonnement annuel pour

€/mois

LA RÉACTION EST IDENTIQUE CHEZ PASCAL RODRIGUEZ, LE SCÉNOGRAPHE. « Ils ont voulu choisir leur exposition, j’ai revu toutes mes propositions. C’est la première fois qu’ils pouvaient s’extraire des impératifs de l’ordre pénitentiaire, avoir la possibilité de choisir. Ils se sont tout de suite positionnés en faveur d’un parcours non fléché : ne pas être guidés. Ils voulaient circuler librement », nous précise-t-il. Le choix d’une couleur SUITE PAGE 2

LIRE PAGE 4

SOMMAIRE EXPOSITION_ page 6 MARK COHEN, LA PHOTO À HAUTE TENSION *

NEW YORK_ page 3 SIMON CASTETS NOMMÉ DIRECTEUR DU SWISS INSTITUTE *

ENTRETIEN_ page 8 ADRIANO PEDROSA, COMMISSAIRE DE LA SECTION SPOTLIGHT SUR FRIEZE MASTERS

La « street photography » américaine a un nouvel héros. Il se nomme Mark Cohen, il est né en 1943 et il est actuellement exposé à Paris au BAL. Diane Dufour, sa directrice, est allée le chercher en Pennsylvanie où il vit depuis toujours. Bonne pioche ! Depuis les photos à l’uppercut de Lisette Model, de Leon Levinstein ou de William Klein, on n’a pas vu une œuvre d’une telle brutalité et d’un tel voltage. Klein et Model opéraient dans les mégalopoles ; Mark Cohen, lui, n’est jamais sorti de Wilkes-Barre, l’une de ces villes moyennes des États-Unis dont il n’y a rien à dire si ce n’est justement qu’elles produisent des agités propres à bousculer la conformité des lieux. Mark Cohen a tenu toute sa vie un studio photo à Wilkes-Barre - photographe de mariages et de conventions. Une bonne partie de sa vie aussi, il a arpenté le trottoir. Le Leica ou le Nikon enroulé au poignet, il a reconduit invariablement un même mode opératoire, dégainant l’objectif et braquant les passants sans crier gare, sans viser, avec l’insolence du type qui bouscule sans s’excuser. De jour comme de nuit, avec flash souvent, il a opéré CATALOGUE, coéd. Le BAL/ sur les corps en mouvement Xavier Barral, 178 p., 169 photos, un vol à l’étalage caractérisé, 45 euros. prélevant ici un torse moulé dans une chemise lycra, là un cou capitonné de fourrure, plus loin un genou qui dépasse d’une jupe à plis, deux seins moulés dans du coton éponge… Le plus souvent, il coupe les têtes, mais lorsqu’elles apparaissent, elles prennent tout le champ et deviennent monstrueuses - regards hypertrophiés sous la loupe des lunettes, chicot saillants d’une bouche béante… Rien de sexuel dans ces saisies à chaud réalisées avec un 21 ou un 28 mm, rien de documentaire non plus dans ce regard compulsif qui traite avec la même irrévérence les vieilles en chapeau, les gosses hilares, les noirs, les blancs, les riches, les gros… Le monde, pour Mark Cohen, est une matière solide dont il prélève des fragments tel un diamantaire facettant chaque pierre pour en obtenir le meilleur. En couleur, c’est le rouge sanglant d’un bandana, le lasso fluo d’une corde à sauter qui attrapent et submergent son œil. En noir et blanc, c’est une mèche de cheveux qui brille dans l’obscurité, le

Mark Cohen, Woman with red lips smoking, 1975. Courtesy ROSEGALLERY, Santa Monica.

galbe d’une chaussette claire sur un mollet comprimé. L’accrochage est si chargé en électricité qu’il embrase les murs. Ils ont d’ailleurs été repeints de rouge, comme pour signifier le danger qu’il y a à aborder cette œuvre à haute tension. Dans la salle du bas, Diane Dufour a opté pour un effet de travelling en accrochant toutes les images, bords contre bords, sur une même ligne. Les photos sautent au visage comme des coups de lasso. L’homme lui-même est rapide et nerveux. Son travail a été reconnu très vite : « J’avais 30 ans lorsque John Szarkowski m’a exposé au MoMA [à New York]. À ce moment-là, j’aurais pu aller m’installer à New York, mais j’avais charge de famille et j’ai préféré rester à Wilkes-Barre. En restant coincé là, je suis devenu un surréaliste. Par la force des choses ». Il a reçu deux fois une bourse du Guggenheim, il a été représenté par les meilleures galeries, Ligth Gallery et Leo Castelli à ses débuts, Bruce Silverstein (New York) et Rosegallery (Santa Monica) aujourd’hui. Mais ses photos abruptes, sans une once de graisse ni de facilité, sont restées longtemps sans acheteur. « Je suis pourtant aussi bon que Willliam Eggleston », remarque-t-il avec humour. Offensif dans ses photos comme dans ses propos, Mark Cohen est, à soixante-dix ans, le dernier Jesse James de la « street photography ». MARK COHEN. DARK KNEES, 1969-2012, jusqu’au 8 décembre, Le BAL, 6, impasse de la Défense, 75018 Paris, tél. 01 44 70 75 50, www.le-bal.fr.

Le Quotidien de l’Art, October 1, 2013

L’EXPOSITION DU JOUR QUAND L’ART RUSSE REGARDAIT VERS L’EST, À FLORENCE, AU PALAZZO STROZZI

PAR SARAH HUGOUNENQ À première UIF!BSU!EBJMZ!!!!!OFXT vue, « Le Voyage » est une exposition comme une autre. De grandes institutions françaises (musée Guimet, Quai Branly, musées des beaux-arts de Rennes ou de Rouen...) sont parmi les prêteurs des 90 œuvres ; la scénographie est réfléchie, et le propos cadré. Seulement voilà, derrière les cimaises se cachent les fenêtres à barreaux du centre pénitentiaire Sud Francilien de Réau (Seine-et-Marne), et les onze commissaires sont des détenus, pour majorité purgeant de lourdes peines. « C’est la toute première fois qu’une prison est le théâtre d’une exposition d’œuvres originales, conçue dans des conditions professionnelles, avec la rédaction d’un mini catalogue par les codétenus », explique Nadine Piquet, directrice de la prison. Pendant un an, le projet, entièrement financé par la Fondation Daniel et Nina Carasso, a été chapeauté par Vincent Gille, chargé d’études documentaires à la Maison de Victor Hugo à Paris. Derrière les contraintes techniques (peu d’objets peuvent entrer dans une prison, les détenus n’ont aucun accès à Internet pour le choix des œuvres...), ce professionnel de la culture explique qu’il « ne l’[a] pas fait différemment de toutes les expositions dont [il s’]occupe depuis 30 ans ». Mais, reconnaît-il, « cette expérience a eu des incidences sur la pratique de mon métier. Quand vous vous retrouvez devant un groupe de personnes proférant “l’art, ce n’est pas pour nous”, on ne que repenser ses habitudes et ses pratiques ».

PAR NATACHA WOLINSKI

pendant 12 mois

NUMÉRO 454 / MARDI 1 ER OCTOBRE 2013 / WWW.LEQUOTIDIENDELART.COM / 2 euros

Au centre pénitentiaire de Réau, la grande évasion artistique

Mark Cohen, la photo à haute tension

press clippings

19

PAGE 06

LE QUOTIDIEN DE L’ART / NUMÉRO 454 / MARDI 1ER OCTOBRE 2013


CONTACTS LE BAL 6, impasse de la DĂŠfense 75018 PARIS France Fannie Escoulen escoulen@le-bal.fr + 33 (0) 6 67 54 02 15 Nederlands Fotomuseum Las Palmas building Wilhelminakade 332 NL-3072 AR Rotterdam Frits Gierstberg gierstberg@nederlandsfotomuseum.nl +31 (0)10-2030405 Editions Xavier Barral Emmanuelle Kouchner e.kouchner@xavierbarral.fr + 33 (0) 1 48 05 65 30


Turn static files into dynamic content formats.

Create a flipbook
Issuu converts static files into: digital portfolios, online yearbooks, online catalogs, digital photo albums and more. Sign up and create your flipbook.