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OBITUARY I should be thankful to the month of July, 2004. It was just July, that was between me and Henri! I discovered him a month ago! A month isn’t enough to know a man quiet deeply. Especially a man whose life stretches 95 years, finger prints imprinted in more than 23 countries, camera clicks worth more than 500 seconds, through several 1000’s of photographs! I have tried in my own small way to understand his manner and translate them into words. Also working with the reality that he may never know somebody working hard to crack on the other corner of the globe as to what he might have contemplated about most of the things happened in the last century. It was during this exercise, he departed from this world in his usual candid manner without attracting much attention.. ----------------------------------------------------------------------I dedicate this small effort to this wonderful human being to whom I’m deeply attached right now quiet inadvertently.
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A day with Henri I am at the Queen Charlotte ’s ball, adorned in a beautiful white silk gown swaying to the rhythm of Mozart. There along with my man, I gently moved to the right and to the left..then we turned and turned softly stroking another white gown. I’m smiling away and partly withdrawn from worldly senses still swaying to right and then left. We went on dancing for how long..I am still in my dreams. But my eyes are traveling round and around the hall as I step in tune to the music. I wandered through other smiling eyes, blushing eyes, laughing eyes, ogling eyes, wondering eyes..do I see a peeping camera eye? I took another few seconds and few sways to return to that unusual eye from the balcony. Yes that eye is still the re, yes it’s HENRI! “Am I within his peeping camera eye?”, I became unusually conscious of my presence and attire. Because I know, I could possibly be part of his magical shot. In a split second he disappeared. My eyes searched for him, but those unusual eyes were missing from the crowd. After the ball, we took a drink and found refuge beside one of the tables, resting and enjoying our drink. Suddenly I could see the same peeping camera eye framing us resting on the floor. Through the corner of my eyes, I kept on watching Henri with his small camera bending down with one eye looking through the hole and the other eye shut, camera covering half of his face, the strap of the camera hanging from his neck. A Decisive moment and he left silently from the scene. This time I am sure that I’ve been captured. That happened way back in 1959. But where am I now? I’m here in the middle of thousands of photographs carefully stacked in Henri’s cupboard. Creaky sound of the door opening and I heard Henri’s footsteps. I tried to tell him “Henri, its suffocating here”. After so many years, I don’t know why I felt it choking today, but can he hear me? He opened the door of the cupboard, a beam of sunshine peeped into us! I am feeling much better now. Henri took my photograph and meticulously examined us in the photo and seems to be pleased. Alas! I still don’t know the look of the shot from within. I called aloud “Henri”.. He smeared his eyes and nodded his head at once to make sure if he heard any call. He stared at the photo and there I called him again “Henri, can you take me out of this photo at once?”. This time without any doubt or hesitation he smiled and asked me “why?”. I asked “Isn’t it unfair on us, the characters don’t get to see the shot.” He plunged in thought fo r a while and nodded in acceptance. He offered his hands to me and I held my arm on him to reach out. Henri is already in a dream and helped me fluff the pleats of my white gown…I looked back 3
to that photo where I remained as a shadow. I couldn’t believe my eyes; the ball dance looked mesmerizing in the photograph. Every inch of the motion lyrically captured. The frills of my gown dancing with me! I asked curiously “Henri, how could you make our dance so poetic?” He placidly looked at me and replied “I lived through that moment and my eyes recognized the rhythm in your dance. Then I acted quickly to capture that moment of beauty..when you indulge in something whole heartedly, it is possible!” I went on “But is it just your eyes that function at that moment”? He continued “not at all, one must be on alert with the brain, the eye, the heart; and suppleness of body. While he actually works, the photographer should reach precise awareness of what he is trying to do.” Henri invited me to sit in one of the chairs. There are lots of other photographs kept on the near by table. As he explained I browsed through a few photographs. But I stopped with this one picture, which I had seen earlier. I couldn’t resist my anxiety and wanted to know more from him. Now the master himself is standing in front of me. “But how this one is possible, that man is flying across water, his feet have not touched water?” “Sometimes while you photograph, you may have a feeling that you have already taken the strongest possible picture. But you cannot still be sure how the next situation is going to unfold. So, just wait and wait..stay with the scene utmost alertly.” After a pause, he continued “putting one’s head, one’s eye and one’s heart on the same axis--One must seize the moment before it passes…there is this fractional instant when the inner voice says. YES, NOW” “Do you feel a tension while you are looking for a shot?” “Yuh, I’m kind of nervous—it’s horrible for my friends— but it’s only by maintaining a permanent tension that I can stick to reality” I closely looked at those pictures, Henri with patience waited for my next query as if he felt a moral responsibility to tell the truth to his character. As I continued looking at them, pictures looked to me more of painting than real.
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“Don’t you think these pictures are more like paintings, which are well thought out than a photograph?” “Well, according to my painting teacher during childhood, Andre Lhote says “everything comes from your training as a painter” after seeing my photographs--either in photography, drawing or painting, the problem is to rediscover intuitively the plastic laws of organisation that are fundamental in nature. I don't make a distinction between drawing, painting and photography. The only difference is what the tool can do. You must respect the tool. ” “But how come impermanent motions and ordinary people of your images have an amazing appeal?” “In photography, the smallest thing can be a great subject. The little human detail can become the motive. They can be found in the street. I like to see them as- they- are” I interrupted to tell him sadly “I too see so many things on street, but it’s never as poetical as in your pictures” He continued “As I photograph with my little Leica, I have the feeling that there is something so right about it: With one eye that is closed one looks within. With the other eye that is open one looks without --There is a pulse that runs between the inner self and impacts on the self's outer appearance.” “Oh, Leica..that is your camera” I uttered. “What is so special about Leica?” “Ah, Leica—I have never been separated from it since I found it. It is an extension of my eye. It is my diary—an almost daily record of images”. Again“yes, it’s a small, light weight, handheld camera”. He took his Leica in his hand, lots of black tapes plastered on it. I was wondering if Leica made his images beautiful or his technique made them unmatchable. I decided to ask him what I had in my mind. “Do you think Leica’s techniques enhanced the quality of your images or your own talent?” “Good question! Lots of new discoveries are happening in photography. Techniques are to improve our selves. It is up to us to apply them to our technique. In my opinion, techniques must be mastered to a level in order to communicate what you see---One’s own personal technique has to be created and adapted to make your vision effective on film. But only the results count”. I was pretty convinced by this answer. I thought to myself his technique has been good. 5
Leica
I asked “Henri, are you getting bored by my questions? Have any other characters in your pictures ever asked such questions before?” “It’s my pleasure, I guess all of them ask me questions---questions on life, its mundane activities, agonies, weather, almost on everything. But you seem to be the first one suffocated within the confines of a picture”. We slowly moved out of the room, he gently directed me to his study table infested books and other photographs. There was a silence between us. Suddenly he asked me “Do you like to be photographed?” I blushed and replied. “yes, very much! It’s like a mirror!” I’m silver and exact. I have no preconceptions. Whatever I see, I swallow immediately. Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike I’m not cruel, only truthfulThe eye of a little god, four- cornered. Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall. (Mirror by Sylvia Plath) “Henri, isn’t your camera much alike her mirror? Not cruel only truthful and swallow immediately” Henry added “but with a difference! Camera doesn’t swallow whatever it sees. ‘Things as they are’ offer such an abundance of material, but a photographer must guard against the temptation to do everything. It is like shooting with a gun. He will point out that when a flock of birds flies , within range a good hunter will select one bird and bring it down. So do camera!” My eyes remained stuck with a few pictures I saw. Masses, children, women, families, rich and poor…it gives the impression of so many. “Henri, are you a socialist?” “I guess now I’m more a humanist. But yes, I had been attracted to socialism. During my youth, there was an aversion for capitalism, autocracy and world wars…these things have contributed a great deal in shaping ideology. During 30’s, more than personal and artistic concerns, I gave importance to worldly or social.” “Tell me about any one picture that touched the humanist in you?” “Oh yes, I can’t forget this one picture. After my return from 6
Africa during my twenties, I happened to see a picture by the Hungarian photographer Munkacsi, entitled, ‘Three Boys at Lake Tanganyika’. It was a photograph of black kids running in a wave and I couldn’t believe such a thing could be caught with camera—I said just damn it and went out to the street with camera to catch real life”. “But do you think the motion of life you have continuously tried to capture in your photographs will work out better in film?” “Yes, I have been always fascinated by the possibilities of moving images. I have been deeply moved by some of the great movies like Eisenstein’s “Battle of Potemkin”, Dreyer’s “Jeanne d’Arc” and many others. I thought moving images can work out better than camera in capturing the scars of the world.” I interrupted him to ask him again on film. “Then why not films, Henri?” He grinned and replied, “I’ve tried the medium of film. But I guess it’s not my world.. I’m incapable of giving orders to an actor. Also the detailed planning and spontaneity required is tremendous. You know something…I’ve even acted in one film.” “Interesting! Which one?” “La regle du jeu (The rules of the game). I was assisting Jean Renoir. He made me act to make me understand how it feels like on the other side of the camera.”
Seeing the next set of pictures I wondered how he might have caught those expressions so natural. A man in his contemplation, a family enjoying a picnic near the river: all taken unnoticed. “How much effort you usually put to become unnoticed?” “One needs to respect the subject to be photographed and there for it’s my need to pass unnoticed. Many may call it ‘candid photography’. I never use flashlight for that matter. To use flash is not at all polite. It is like coming to a concert with a pistol in hand. I have even covered my camera’s shiny parts using black tapes not to attract attention.”
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“Henri, given a chance would you wish to become an invisible man?” His eyes sparkled, “yes, I wouldn’t deny that offer..it’s one of the best gifts a photographer can get. Cloaked in invisibility he can approach anything, anywhere without disturbing life!” Henri was smiling to himself, might be thinking of the invisibility factor! While I was curiously looking at this one picture. To me it looked like peeping windows from sky! “I wish sky had windows like these, do n’t you think it’s a beautiful dream you have portrayed here?” “Good, if I triggered a dream in you! It is the magic of creating unusual, unpredictable meanings. Early days I did not believe much in photographic realism. Do you know surrealists? They influenced me a lot.” “Yes, I have heard about Surrealism. But why surrealism?” “It has lot to do with the political climate. The world wars, reasons and logic of the western world, miseries of the people!! Surrealism was a mean to keep open a little window on the beyond, of dreams and imagination.” “But how dreams can eliminate miseries from people’s lives, reality is different?” “Yes, it cannot. It was a rebel within artistic expression. But according to surrealists, life is more than the sum of external and artistic tendencies such as realism and naturalism. By being realistic they largely ignored life's other dimension--the inner realm of dreams and imagination. It was because they hated wretchedness, the surrealists turned to Marxism.” Our chat was getting more and more serious! I knew that he helped french communist party and served as a photographer for it’s evening news paper Ce soir. He also became popular as the first foreign photographer to be allowed in Soviet union after Stalin’s death in 1952.
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“Is that how you started helping communists?” “I was attracted to communism, more because I have the inclination in my blood. My family consisted of left- wing catholics. Later during my youth, surrealism and communism were the leading movements-- and Andre Breton impressed me who was one of the leaders of surrealists! Later when my concern over fascism grew, I turned to the political struggle and served French communist party” “But did you enjoy any artistic freedom under the communists?” “It’s difficult to say how much freedom I owned. Those days many artists abandoned their own independent creative work and subordinated to the service of Stalinism. Yes, I faced interference in my work —when I tried to shoot my own scenes I was obstructed and an entire reel was edited out. But we thought it was for a good cause, it was all against fascism.” “Did you get some kind of a real ization later?” “After the second world war I felt close to Breton and to his attitude, ’First of all Life!’. I had this desire to be free to use my art to create a better world. I also became less interested in abstract photography. I became more and more interested in human values.” His eyebrows rose at the thought of Second World War. I could sense his silence! He again began talking to me after a pause, “you know, they thought I died in war and even prepared a posthumous exhibition of my photographs in New York at the museum of modern art.” My eyes were wide with anxiety. I thought “this man is full of surprises!” He brought me a small catalogue. On the cover was a small watercolour, swiftly done, in greys and browns and greens. He continued “It gives me memory of the war!” “Did you do this painting during the war?” “During the war, I joined French army’s film and photographic unit. I was captured as a prisoner of war for 3 years and worked as a forced labourer under Nazis. I tried to escape, on my third attempt I managed to escape. Some how I reached the banks of Lyon, I had no papers, nothing. I just had my shirt and shoes and pants. And I had an appointment with somebody from the underground who was going to provide me with false papers. But in case some German patrol should pass by, I brought my little paint box along - yes, a tiny Windsor and Newton box, like the palm of my hand…I made this sitting there!” “If you were caught a third time, what would have you done?” “I really don’t know! But I could have been caught a third time. After escaping from Germany, on my way back to Paris, I was hiding in a farm with several others, Jews and escaped 9
prisoners, and I stayed there for two or three months until, finally, I came back to Paris and worked f or the underground. After Liberation, I went back to the farm and discovered that one of the people in the group was a stool-pigeon, a member of the French Gestapo, something like that, and everybody, including the farmer, but not the farmer's wife, had ended up in Buchenwald.” “Did the prison camp change your life in some way?” “Yes, yes in many ways!” he nodded in acceptance and continued “for a young bourgeois with surrealist ideas, breaking stone and working in a cement factory was a very good lesson!" He was in another world, I held his hand and invited for a walk! We strolled through the lawns beside the house. I went on, Henri, what happened after the liberation? “After the liberation, so many things have happened! I made this documentary sponsored by the US office of war information about the return of French refugees and deportees from Germany. It is called ‘Le Retour’ (The return). I was also informed that I’ve become the founder member of Magnum co-operative in 1947.” “What was Magnum about?” “It was the first photographers’ co-operative. It is very important to be autonomous—that means you’re not on a payroll of anybody, you can decide what you want to do. The world was also growing bigger, and according to my friend Robert Capa, it was important to attach a label to the profession that I’m doing and it was that of a photojournalist. He also thought that would place me directly in touch with what is happening in the world. Magnum provided all those.” “But Henri, how a co-operative becomes different from other agencies?” “Yes, it is different in many ways! Usually the agency controls the rights of the photograph and ultimately the photographer become alienated from his creation. But here it is wholly controlled by its members. They select its staff, establish its business practices, and share in its profits. As an association Magnum combined the support of a group with much individual freedom for each photographer. Also the copyright of the photographs remains with the individual photographer. Magnum just plays the role of a bargainer!!” “That is interesting; Magnum sounds more democratic in its attitude!” I said. He replied, “Exactly! It was a mini United nations!!”
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“A mini United Nations!! In what sense?” He smiled and replied, “My friend Capa divided the whole globe into four. Each of its charter members assumed responsibility for the coverage of a different geographic area. Capa was the only roving photographer; Chim was to cover Europe, I was given India and the Far East, Vandivert in the United States and Rodger in Africa.” “Henri..you have traveled all around the world, met so many people! How much you absorb from them?” “You know, I don’t like traveling! I like to take my time about it, leaving between one country and the next an interval in which to digest what I’ve seen. Once I have arrived in a new country, I feel almost like settling down there, so as to live on proper terms with the country. Absorb..all those moments captured in each of those photographs are absorbed by me whole heartedly! But there are things which I have developed interest for, like Buddhism and Hinduism !” “What aspect you liked about Buddhism and Hinduism?” “Well, surrealists long back had discovered some mysticism about east. Mysterious east of the Buddha and Dalai lama! While I was in China, I had a fascination for that . What attracted me was the Buddhist idea of disrupting nature as little as possible. It inspired me to seek things asthey-are. Hinduism, you can see the introductory note by Yves Véquaud on Hinduism in my book about India. It is very interesting to see the way stories and spiritualism evolve. ” I was thinking hard on too many aspects he said, suddenly he asked me “Do you talk to your neighbour photographs?”
Sartre
Simon
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Neruda
I replied with a deep sigh “ah, yes! A few times, I have muttered to my neighbours. Sartre and Simon, husband and wife were always together in the cupboard. They were talking aloud on socio-politico climate of those days. I was a little annoyed and went closer to hear them. I couldn’t understand any!” Henri started laughing at my comment. “But my best company was Pablo Neruda. Ha! I don’t remember how many times we sang together the poem Tonight I can write.” I sang a few lines for him! Tonight I can write the saddest lines. Write, for example: "The night is starry, and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance." The night wind revolves in the sky and sings. (Tonight I can write by Pablo Neruda) He enjoyed and patted me fondly. I told him, “Whenever I looked at Neruda, I always felt he’s going to write a new poem. Then there is Jinnah, who looked very crooked, all set to ask for Pakistan. Henri, How your portraits capture those expressions on a person’s face?" “Yes, it’s very interesting! I make a courtesy visit. I stay a short time. Say ‘Thank you, I've got it.’ Put the camera down.' And then you catch him. Like this. No rule whatsoever. You have to be like a cat ! Without the preconceptions of celebrity, they engage on the level of mutual human curiosity while we talk. As time passes by and you look at portraits, the people come back to you like a silent echo.” “But among all these great people, who comes to your mind too often?” “Hmmm..it’s a difficult question! But I can’t forget Gandhi. I had been fortunate in timing. I was introduced to Gandhi on the afternoon of January 30, 1948 and showed him the small catalogue of my one-man exhibition the previous year at New York's Museum of Modern Art. Gandhi looked through it slowly, page by page, saying nothing until he came to the photo of a man gazing at an elaborate hearse. He asked, “What is the meaning of this picture?” Cartier-Bresson told him, "That's Paul Claudel, a Catholic poet very much concerned with the spiritual issues of life and death." Gandhi thought for a moment, and then said, very distinctly: “Death - death - death.” I left at 4.45pm. Fifteen minutes later, the Mahatma was dead.” I felt that incident pretty moving! After all the chat he looked a little tired. I thought I’ll cheer him up with other casual subjects. 12
“Henri, do you like being called a celebrity?” “What does it mean by celebrity? I call myself an artisan. Anyone with sensitivity is potentially an artist. But then you must have concentration besides sensitivity.” “Why is that you don’t allow others to take your photograph?” “I’m not interested in my photographs first of all! My complaint is against publishing an entire reel of film rather than choose one significant portrait . There should be some sort of discrimination between the use of the camera to make a sensitive work of art and the routine photography.” He went on with a naughty smile, “my wife Martine takes my shots though! At oxford, for my acceptance of honorary doctorate, I covered my face with paper.” “Henri, do you still shoot?” “No, I’ve almost resigned from photography! All I care these days is painting—photography has never been more than a way into painting, a sort of instant drawing. I don’t remember the year exactly, it was sometime in the Sixties when I said to Teriade – a famous French publisher-about giving up photography. He told me, ‘Go back to your first passion. Drawing and painting.’ ” “How about having a latest automatic camera?” “Automatic cameras!! They are machine guns you see!” “What you think of latest colour photography and automatic cameras?” “The market demands colour even though electronic colour is so limited, and so faithless to nature. But I think colour photography is extremely important for scientific purposes, and so on. But black -and-white has strength of evocation. My mind is still remains with black and white.” I said. “Yes, I too thought so. Otherwise my picture of ball dance wouldn’t have been so beautiful.” I looked at the evening sky, “Henri, I asked you so many questions..guess I should stop now and leave you”. Henri soon took his sketching book and asked my permission if he can sketch me. What more I need…Once I was in his famous photograph and now in his sketch! At the corner of the sketch he wrote a few lines for me…which said “giving you my friendly souvenir” – Henri. I held his hand to say a warm ‘Thank you’ for his patience and a pleasant ‘Goodbye’. I walked away towards the cupboard while he was still looking at me from behind, as if waiting to click his mind’s shutter and to capture that ‘Decisive moment’.
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