There are several reasons to admire Andre Kertesz. I can think of at least three as I flip through a retrospective biography of his work.
Kertesz was born in Hungary in the late 19th century into a family that had expected him to follow a career in finance. But he had other ambitions and the courage to pursue his own muse. He was a photographer from a relatively early age, a passion he held for 70 years or so. If nothing else, you have to admire the man’s tenacity.
I recently checked out a retrospective of his work: Andre Kertesz, a lifetime of perception, by Harry Abrams Publishers. The book, which was published in 1982, is a lifetime retrospective, but gives emphasis to his earliest work in France.
I had studied his work many years ago as an undergraduate, but had forgotten his place in photography until I reviewed his work again. The book was a refresher course for me, and I enjoyed getting reaquainted with images that made an impression on me many years ago.
He does not fall easily into any one category, as most photographers do today. Over the course of his lifetime, his images run the gamut of what photography has to offer, including urban landscapes, portraits, street photography, still lifes, distorted human forms — all using simple compositions that show a clear understanding of how lines, forms and texture can be used to communicate. There is no overarching theme in his photographs, but his stories are well told.
The simple image of a fork and plate taken in Paris in 1928 shows how the most simple objects can be arranged to show beauty. A separate image of two glasses and a pipe in a bowl illustrates the same point. Both show everyday objects in ordinary lighting but come together in a way that hold a viewer’s attention over time. I studied both of these images almost 25 years ago, but had forgotten how compelling he can make everyday objects. It makes me wonder what I could do with objects in my own house.
Another reason to admire his tenacity is the fact that he shot for most of his life before gaining widespread recognition. His career went in stops and starts, but it wasn’t until 1964, at the age of about 69, he received a solo exhibit of his work at New York’s Museum of Modern Art. John Szarkowski recognized his potential and gave him an exhibit.
The book, in short, was a great review of images I had visited many years ago and a reminder of the benefits of tenacity, simplicity and, ultimately patience.