Brett Weston and Edward Weston: An Essay in Photographic Style

Brett Weston and Edward Weston: An Essay in Photographic StyleAuthor(s): Roger AikinSource: Art Journal, Vol. 32, No. 4 (Summer, 1973), pp. 394-404Published by: College Art AssociationStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/775689 .

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Brett Weston and Edward Weston: An Essay in Photographic Style

Roger Aikin

In the past few years growing interest in the history of photography has given rise to an increasing number of publications on photography and photographers and, in spite of the uncritical texts of many of these books (with the notable exception of Aaron Scharf's excellent Art and Photography, which actually deals primarily with the influence of photography on painting), it is safe to say that most of the major photographers of this century have at least been exposed to the public, even if they have not been given their definitive treatment. But one photographer, Brett Weston, has certainly not been given the critical attention he deserves, perhaps because he still remains, in the eyes of many, simply an extension of his well-known father, Edward Weston.' No one has at- tempted to distinguish the character of Brett's work from his father's, or even to discuss the complex relationship between the styles of the two men. Furthermore, it seems clear that the lack of such critical distinctions is due in great part to the absence of a critical vocabulary for photography in general. Anyone who has "read" a monograph on a photographer knows that such books com- monly consist of a biographical sketch, testimonials by well-known critics and photographers, a few cryptic theoretical remarks by the photographer himself, and the all- important illustrations. The recent monograph on Paul Strand exemplifies the current state of affairs.2 The photographs are superbly reproduced, but the text is thin and inconsequential. The vital questions of Strand's mat- uration and influences are only briefly mentioned. In fact, so far as I know, there has never been an attempt in the literature of photography to fulfill the requirements of a monograph as an art historian would define one. There has never been a catalogue raisonnee, which is of

growing importance now that the negatives of important photographers are being reinterpreted by others after the death of the photographer. There has never been a serious attempt to account for a photographer's development as an artist, to define the differences between the style of a photographer and his contemporaries or his teachers, or to define the style of the photographer himself. In my opinion these failings result from the unspoken but per- sisting belief among critics that one cannot talk about

photographs in the same way that one talks about painting, sculpture, or architecture. There seems to be wide-

ROGER AIKIN of Corvallis, Oregon, is presently in Italy completing his doctoral dissertation on Italian Renais- sance Architecture at the University of California Berke-

ley. In addition to his interest in the Westons he has also had several exhibits of his own photographs. a

spread skepticism that "style" exists at all in photography.

This essay cannot remedy all these ills, and, in fact, it began as a simple attempt to discuss and appreciate the photographs of Brett Weston. But in preparing an essay on Brett it became obvious that meaningful distinctions would have to be made between the styles of Brett and his father, if Brett were to be properly understood as a

photographer in his own right. In order to accomplish this, I adopted the method of formal comparisons, a technique of stylistic differentiation which is common among art historians, but is not yet practiced by photographic historians. I hope that one of the by-products of this essay will be a greater willingness among photographic historians and critics to use the methodologies and terminolo-

gies of art history.3

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES Edward Weston (1886-1959) became a successful pho-

tographer of high society in the soft-focus, neo-impres- sionist, salon mode current in the teens of this century, but in the early twenties his own dissatisfaction with his work led him to strike a vigorous new direction in photography which has since become known as "straight photography." He simplified his technique to the point of as- ceticism, and began to produce rich, crisp contact prints from unretouched negatives. He tried to approach photography honestly and squarely, with as little technical and theoretical paraphernalia as possible. During the next thirty years his preferences in subject matter changed often; he travelled extensively, and he greatly increased his understanding of the medium; but his fundamental approach never changed.4 Although he tried to remain free of any doctrine, he did enjoy writing about the philosophy of photography, and his Daybooks, the

journals he wrote over his morning cup of coffee, are some of the most engaging and revealing literary remains in the history of artistic autobiography. The Daybooks cannot be discussed here, but one passage which perhaps encapsules Edward Weston's aims should be quoted:

To see the thing itself (italic in original) is essential: the quintessence revealed directly without the fog of impres- sionism . . . to photograph a rock, have it look like a rock, Significant presentation, not interpretation.5

Brett Weston (1911- ) is not as widely known as his father, but he is now approaching his fiftieth year as a photographer. He began to photograph at the age of fifteen with his father in Mexico, and he was already ex- hibiting with Edward by 1927. Edward commented on Brett's prodigious abilities with a view camera. Brett has exhibited many times since 1927, and he must be one of the most prolific artists working in American today. He has been known to expose over two dozen negatives in one day, and the technical skill required for such a feat qualifies Brett for the appellation Fa Presto. Neverthe- less, Brett has not been adequately published. His shyness

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and his unwillingness to intellectualize about his work in an age when artists, and particularly photographers, seem addicted to verbalization as a necessary adjunct to all art has probably contributed to his relative obscurity. And one must also admit that Brett's work does not concern itself with particularly discussible kinds of values such as narrative content, obvious quotation from the past, ico- nography, striking technical innovation, or redeeming so- cial value.

Let it be stressed again that both men use the same photographic process and format. Each makes large contact prints (photographic prints made without an enlarg- er by shining a light through a large negative placed in contact with a piece of photographic paper), the final print is almost totally "pre-visualized" before the mo- ment of exposure, and manipulations are made primarily in the camera-not in the darkroom. Therefore, tech-

nique is not a complicating factor in any comparison of the styles of the two men. In choosing photographs by the AWestons for comparison I have tried to select pictures of similar subject matter in some cases. In other cases I have chosen photographs which represent most typically the styles of the two men as I have come to know them. This is not the place to discuss innuendos and phases in their respective styles, although I do hope to deal with these questions in detail in some later investigations. I must ask the reader to take on faith for the time being that the photographs illustrated here are, in fact, typical examples of each man's personal style.

THE PHOTOGRAPHS

If photographs of kelp by each man are opposed to each other, clear differences are obvious (Figs. 1 and 2). In Edward's picture of 1930, the contents of the picture and the frame are disposed in such a way that one thing seems to be there for the sake of the other. The relationship between the forms in the picture is highly architec- tonic and structural, and the simplicity, strength, and solemnity of Edward's kelp make the total effect decidedly monumental. There is a feeling of resolution, partly because Edward has been careful to complete his composition well inside the picture frame. The major forms are isolated in a kind of high pressure area in the center of the picture.

But in Brett's Kelp of 1952, everything is done to avoid the impression that this composition was invented

just for this surface. It looks more like a piece cut hap- hazard out of the visual world. One can imagine a limit- less field of similar matter outside the frame, and the picture is freed from a tectonic relationship with the frame. There is less solemnity and monumentality and more freedom and movement. While Edward's kelp is closed, concentrated, composed and always points back into itself, Brett's is open, diffused, and points beyond itself, although subtle limits and organizations continue to exist.

Let me describe these organizations in detail. The initial impression of confusion is quickly replaced by our apprehension of the basic composition, which is created by the two largest dark kelp stems. The extreme simplicity and power of this basic composition is worthy of Malevich or Kandinsky, but these men rarely achieved such grace or ease of movement. Notice the precise inter- vals in the relationship of these two kelp stems to the frame. The viewer next becomes aware of several other kelp stems which are also in the process of penetrating into the picture, but these secondary stems are more incomplete. In fact, Brett has been careful to present a bal- anced ratio of incomplete and relatively complete kelp stems, and he creates thereby a distinct sensation of time and movement by this sense of progression. All of the stems seem to originate outside of the frame, which becomes a kind of maelstrom where the forces concentrate. As the stems emerge from outside the picture they derive part of their energy from our tendency to complete them in our imagination. In Edward's picture, however, no such imaginative effort is encouraged, because his image is totally complete in the frame; it is stable, complete and obvious. In Brett's picture we wonder what is going on outside the frame, we wonder what the picture looked like a minute ago, and we wonder what it will look like a minute from now, as the frame fills up with kelp. Edward shows us "being," Brett shows us "becoming."

Further perusal of Brett's composition reveals how carefully constructed the picture really is. The strongest force enters the picture through the kelp at the lower left side, and this force seems to be responsible for the bend- ing of the longest stem of kelp, which enters from the top and partly counteracts the strong pressure from the left. Other stems of kelp are beginning to press in from the upper left corner, but the kelp which sweeps up from the lower right corner balances those in the upper left. Fi- nally, the kelp stem which cuts across the extreme upper right hand corner seems to respond to pressure from outside that corner; it also balances the sweep of the large dark kelp in the center. Therefore, the composition is a balance of more or less equal forces: every action has an equal and opposite reaction. The eye cannot leave the picture or find inactivity within it. The resulting emotional tone of these opposing forces must ultimately be a matter of opinion, but I personally feel that the tension in this photograph is not a disquieting one, but derives from a necessary and exciting self-generation of oppo- sites.

Once the viewer realizes that the photograph is neither unintelligible chaos nor unbearable tension, he can turn with security to an exploration of the minor themes in the photograph. The patterns of the leafy parts of the kelp, the textures and tones of the kelp stems, the placement of highlights and all the minutiae of the scene take on added meaning. Prolonged perusal of the photo-

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1. Edward Weston, Kelp, 1930.

2. Brett Weston, Kelp, 1952.

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graph (which is always much more rewarding in the original") reveals numerous provocative details, which could never be appreciated outside of the larger organizations of the photograph: one white kelp stem is undulat- ing lazily across the picture in marked contrast to the purposeful single-mindedness of his brothers. A single white bulb in the center of the picture divides the area of the picture below it exactly into two squares. The sand is actually covered by a thin layer of water, which is proved by the foam adhering to some kelp bulbs and some small floating leafy kelp. A tiny white strand of kelp is wrapped like a noose around the bulb in the upper right. Above all, one notices the extreme care with which Brett has terminated each form at the edge of the picture so that it is both complete as a surface form and yet clearly continues in the real world outside the frame. Running the eye down the right side of the picture makes it obvious that this edge could not be moved the slightest frac- tion of an inch. Note, for example, the careful comple- tion of the shadow cast by the bulb near the right edge.

This purely visual excitement and discovery is not the ultimate meaning of the photograph, however. Isn't Brett really showing us his convictions about the way the universe is organized? He would certainly not go through the laborious process of intellectualization presented here, but his intentions are clearly expressed in his works. The photograph shows us that the chaos which we first saw in the photograph and in the world is only apparent. Organizations do indeed exist. We may speculate about whether the organizations in the photograph are inherent in nature or the creation of Brett's own mind, but it seems to me that this photograph, and this kind of photography in general, is more profound if this paradox is allowed to stand. In any case, Brett does not impose order on the subject in the same way that Edward does. He is prepared to accept the free organization of the subject as he finds it, whereas Edward is less tolerant to chaos, and seeks a more restrictive order. Brett is able to achieve a more delicate balance between chaos and restrictive regularity, and this is the definition of rhythm. Brett prefers rhythm, freedom, and subtlety to the passion for orderliness which characterizes Edward's work. The kelp stems in his photograph seem almost conscious of their own freedom as well as of their dependence of each other.

The same patterns can be observed if we compare a photograph of Tres Ollas de Oaxaca (Mexico, 1926) by Edward and a photograph of Rusted Iron and Sand (1964) by Brett. In Edward's compelling picture (Fig. 3) the subject-ground relationship is clear. The pots are highly plastic, tactile, and corporeal, and they exist in space behind the picture plane-as if they were being seen through a window. Edward has taken care to empha- size all of these qualities. There is so much distance between the pots and the frame that the eye cannot possibly

make negative shapes out of the background. The same concerns about plastic form in space are apparent in Ed- ward's famous Excusado (Mexico, 1925). This photograph (Fig. 4) cannot be totally understood in terms of the Dadaist associations it inevitably calls to mind. Un- like Duchamp's urinal, of which Edward was certainly aware, Edward's photograph forces us to agree that this object can be as impressive as Michelangelo's David. In fact, Edward specifically mentions the "classic" effect of the photograph and even compares it to Greek art. He means the photograph to affirm all the qualities associ- ated with a classic art: frontality, stasis, clarity, monumentality, and a certain aloof porcelain coldness. Weston wants the photograph to exist on an elevated moral plane, and the relevant passages in his Mexican Day- books make it clear that he and his friends in Mexico saw the photograph in just these terms, although it certainly amused Edward to joke about doing a "sitting" with his new subject.7

When Brett's photograph of Rusted Iron and Sand

(Fig. 5) is compared to Edward's work, we can see that Brett has rejected the classic subject-ground relationship. Patterns of light and shade have been peeled off the physical objects on which they rest, and these patterns interplay on a purely visual level, without reference to the in- tellectual or functional meaning of the objects in the picture or to our cognition of these objects as corporeal masses in space. Instead, our attempt to make sense out of the picture is frustrated: the light tone of the rusted iron interacts with its own shadow below, and the iron in shadow reciprocates with the shapes of the sand. No particular tone, texture, or material can claim our attention for long. Each shape on the picture plane vibrates contin- uously from positive to negative, and our eye oscillates between perception of each form as a flat pattern on the picture surface and perception of the form as a real object in space. The permanence of Edward's images has been replaced by visual excitement as a positive value. There is also nothing fortuitous about Brett's photograph: all the effects which it achieves have been ob- tained only by great skill and effort. It should also be no- ticed that the frame, which had been a kind of neutral boundary in Edward's pictures, now participates actively in the shapes on the picture surface. This photograph reveals a much more sophisticated understanding of the medium than Edward commanded. Because the photograph is obviously a photograph in the realistic sense- that is, because it reproduces what must be a "real" ob-

ject without extraordinary distortion or manipulation- the effect of the perceptual tricks it plays on us is all the more overwhelming. This photograph also shows Brett's understanding that the black-and-white image is an ab- straction of reality.

As this comparison has shown, the two Westons can be differentiated by a predominance of either tactile or

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3. Edward Weston, Tres Ollas de Oaxaca, 1926.

4. Edward Weston, Excusado, 1925.

5. Brett Weston, Rusted Iron and Sand, 1964.

6. Edward Weston, Arches, La Merced, 1926.

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visual sensation in their work. The issue, it seems to me, is the role played by the picture plane. Edward always represents objects as behind the picture plane, and de- scribes the mass of the object and its position in space through unambiguous and careful modelling, while Brett delights in the purely visual effects achieved through dramatic chiaroscuro. Edward shows us the illusion of a plastic object-perhaps it would be fair to say the mind's idea of that object-as if it were seen through a window. Brett's photographs assert their own existence as silver on a flat plane, and, in consequence, they assert forms and patterns as independent existences on that picture plane. In Brett's photographs the masses of light and shade pur- sue each other in independent interplay while back-

ground and foreground merge, as if everything were made of the same substance.

Edward Weston consistently approaches his subject matter frontally, and he frequently combines this frontality with axiality and symmetry. A good example is his

photograph of Arches (Mexico, 1926), which is composed of several parallel planes (Fig. 6). It might be argued that such a frontal approach is the only possible one for this

particular subject matter, but this objection begs the

question, because the photographer must choose to make the photograph in the first place, and he tends to select

subject matter which will be most congenial to his habit- ual tendencies and needs.

Brett, on the other hand, tends to approach form

obliquely. His Ford Trimotor of 1935 (Fig. 7) is based on a strong recessional movement into space. Notice also the

complexity and ambiguity of the spacial relationships and the tension created by the juxtaposition of near and far objects on the picture plane. It is clear that the oblique view here is not merely incidental to the photograph, but is actually the reason for the photograph. Again, shapes on the picture plane are abundant. Even in Brett's

Spanish Village of 1960 (Fig. 8), where the picture begins and ends on planes which are parallel to the picture plane, many oblique planes in the interior of the picture create movement and excitement. Notice that the theme of a door flanked by windows, which is introduced at the extreme bottom of the picture, is repeated at different orientations to the picture plane, and is finally repeated on the flat plane at the extreme upper edge of the picture. In most of his pictures, as in the Rusted Iron Brett avoids making any lines parallel to the picture plane, and this seems to enhance the high emotional charge of his photographs.

My characterization of the styles of the two Westons, which has so far been based on purely formal analysis, can be substantiated by a comparison of their methods of

working, theories and particular historical situations. Historically, Edward Weston occupies a position in

the history of photography analogous to the painters of the Renaissance up to Raphael. Edward, who is some-

times called "the father of straight photography," had to deal with the fundamental problems of the media: the action of light on single objects, the best way to maxi- mize the appearance of three-dimensional form, even basic technical problems involving chemicals and tonal- scale. Edward often "posed" single objects in his studio, and photographed them with a zeal reminiscent of Ucel- lo's perspective experiments.s Edward spent days working out precise lighting effects and choosing the proper background for a pepper, an eggplant, a squash, or a nude. His intention was always to make his subject as corporeal and monumental as possible. It should be emphasized here that plasticity is not a quality inherent in the medium of photography. On the contrary, the beginning photographer is often amazed to find that his final print bears little resemblance to the object in space he thought he was photographing. The camera usually goes out of its way to frustrate any plasticity inherent in the subject matter. In the first place, a contact print from a view camera has no areas which are out of focus, and the human brain determines depth largely by the perception of blurred planes outside the area of interest. This quality is called "depth of field" in photographic jargon, and photographs by the Westons have unlimited depth of field due to their technique. Furthermore, while we use our binocular vision to establish depth, the camera sees with only one eye, and a photograph must depend on carefully placed lights and shadows to produce the illusion of depth. This is seldom easy. There is also no color

perspective in black and white photography. Edward Steichen is said to have photographed a single cup and saucer for over a year in order to understand these pecu- liar properties of the camera, and, while Edward Weston never made necessity a virtue to that degree, he was cer-

tainly preoccupied with the same problems. Brett, on the other hand, has never concerned him-

self with the problem of "still life." His interest is sus- tained only by more difficult problems. It seems reason- able to suggest that Edward's solutions to the basic problems of the medium made it both unprofitable and unin- teresting for Brett to concern himself with them. Edward's explorations probably also made it possible for Brett to advance to the more sophisticated kinds of ex-

plorations manifested in the work illustrated here. There can be little doubt that close contact with his father and teacher enabled Brett to master his father's hard-won

technique so quickly and move on the new problems. Art has a history precisely because of this kind of progress, as Gombrich has shown.9 One generation solves certain kinds of problems, and the next generation builds on those solutions. Several cases of similar father-son rela-

tionships in the history of art come to mind-the two Ber- ninis probably being the most well-known example.

It was suggested earlier that Edward Weston's art was analogous to the art of the Renassiance in both tech-

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7. Brett Weston, Ford Trimotor, 1935.

8. Brett Weston, Spanish Village, 1960.

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nical and temperamental terms. In fact, "classic" termi- nology was used as early as 1925 to describe Edward's work. Alfaro Siqueiros wrote the review of Edward's first Mexican exhibit, in which he said:

In Weston's photographs, the texture, the physical quality of things, is rendered with the utmost exactness: the rough is rough, the smooth is smooth, flesh is alive, stone is hard.... The things have a definite weight and volume and propor- tion, and are placed at a clearly defined distance from one another.10

One might well ask whether Siqueiros was referring to Weston's photograph of Tres Ollas or to Raphael's Belle Jardiniere. Brett, on the other hand, rarely represents things to us as we know them to be. He prefers instead to present an image in which the facts are subordinated to visual appearance. The rock in his 1959 photograph of the rock cliffs at Glen Canyon (Fig. 9) is not "hard" but has been de-materialized. The sand in his 1947 photograph of White Sands National Monument (Fig. 10) is often so brilliant that it is indistinguishable from the sky. In neither photograph is any substance given the tactile quality or weight that Edward would deem appropriate. Notice also in the White Sands photograph the flattened perspective and the increased excitement which results.

The beauty of Edward's photographs is, to a certain extent, the inherent beauty of the objects he chooses to photograph. His selection and presentation certainly play a part in the final effect, but Edward often simply gives us a careful print which contains an object which we might have invested with similar meaning or appreciation if we had taken the time to see that particular object in a concentrated way. In front of a photograph by Ed- ward Weston it is possible to have feelings like: "Oh! What a beautiful pepper. I wish I could hold it in my hand!" or "What a magnificent mountain! I wish I were there!" Such statements are absurd in front of most of Brett's photographs, because Brett takes so little interest in the functional identity of his subject matter. The picture becomes his beauty and meaning, both qualities having been injected into a situation which might ordinarily have little of either, as in the Rusted Iron. This photograph involves difficult creation beyond the simple recog- nition of "significant form" in the outside world. As the rusted iron shows, Brett can create a fine photograph out of raw material which most of us would not credit with

any nascent form whatever. In fact, it is possible to look over Brett's shoulder while he is making a photograph without having the faintest idea what the final print will look like.

Edward Weston had great technical facility with a large view camera, but there is evidence that he pre- ferred, if possible, to take his time when making a photograph, and cogitate the various possibilities with a cool eye. He spent days with certain vegetables, and some- times even lost photographs because he was unwilling to

make a quick decision. Brett, on the other hand, works with lightning speed, almost with abandon. He actually seems to enjoy photographing elusive and ephemeral sub-

jects, and he can manipulate his large view camera to photograph a transitory fog pattern as quickly as most photographers could do the same with a small 35mm camera.

The photographic philosophies of the two men are also quite different. Edward's theories about photography can be easily gleaned from his Daybooks (although no systematic attempt has ever been made to do this). Ed- ward seems to be slightly more interested in either the subject matter or the final product of his efforts than in the process itself. Phrases like "the thing itself," "things revealed more clearly than the eye can see," "life within the outer form," and "significant presentation" dominate many pages of the Daybooks.

Brett has never been interested in theoretical statements. In fact, intellectualization is his sworn enemy.1 He might casually agree that he does all of his manipulation in his camera like his father, but he has no interest in his father's writings, which he asserts were only a way for his father to "let off steam." Brett lets off steam by making wood sculpture (which, incidentally, conforms very well to his photographic style. (See Fig. 12). Like his father, Brett insists that he always wanted to make photographs. At the age of fifteen he "fell in love with the im-

age on the back of a camera." It should be emphasized that there is a great deal of difference between the "im-

age on the back of a camera" and "the thing itself." The ground glass on which the image is projected tends to flatten out the image. The image is also upside-down, and divorced from any context by the darkness inside the

viewing cloth. All of these factors tend to abstract and de-

objectify the subject matter, and all have an impact on Brett's work, which is more concerned with the appearance of forms on a flat plane than with any concrete real-

ity of the subject. The "upside-down" quality is particularly characteristic of Brett's style. Most of his photographs have exciting compositions when viewed from any side, and a concurrent lack of intelligible perspective, as the Rusted Iron and White Sands illustrate. Perspective, as G. K. Chesterton opined in one of his most cryptic sen- tences, ". . is always left out of dignified and decorative art."12

It has been said that light is the essence of photography, and Edward and Brett handle light very differently. Edward tends to see and appreciate light solely in con- nection with the physical objects it illuminates, and

rarely as an end in itself. He uses light to model and define. Brett does not hesitate to dematerialize substances and textures into almost pure light (Figs. 9 and 10). He

delights in dramatic chiaroscuro and luminous atmo-

sphere. Edward and Brett also tend to employ lenses which

conform to their particular temperaments. Edward used

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10. Brett Weston, White Sands National Monument, 1947.

9. Brett Weston, Glen Canyon, 1959.

most often a "normal length" lens. This lens does not make the projected image appear to be either closer or farther away than it really is, as "long" or "wide angle" lenses would do. A normal lens also maintains the proper spacial relationships between the various objects in the picture. A normal lens is more "realistic" in the sense that its angle of view is approximately the same as that of the human eye. Brett Weston frequently uses a long or telephoto lens, particularly in the landscape. This lens not only brings the viewer closer to the object on which the camera is trained, but it also distorts the distances between the objects in the picture, making them seem closer to each other and closer to the picture plane than

they really are by flattening out the planes in the picture space-an effect similar to the collapsing bellows of an ac- cordion or a camera. The long lens also tends to nullify differences in the relative size of objects, normally due to

perspective. The lens lessens the impact of perspective or-

thagonals. The photograph of White Sands illustrates Brett's tendency to telescope together the planes in his

photographs with long lenses. The resulting decorative flatness and spacial ambiguity is typical of Brett's style. In the Spanish Village, also taken with a long lens, the wall planes are telescoped together and the entire space is flattened onto the picture plane. The effect is one of increased interaction and movement between the walls in the picture; rhythms are more rapid, transitions are more

abrupt. The image has simply become more concentrated. The eye also tends to enter and leave the picture

more abruptly, with a resulting increase in visual excitement. This preference for a certain kind of lens is another indication of aesthetic temperament.

If the elaborate parallelisms on which this paper had necessarily to be based have not yet become too tedious, a brief summation of the major points of difference between these two photographers is in order. Edward sees the object through the camera; Brett sees the image on the camera. Their respective styles illustrate Plato's dis- tinction between the "real" and the "actual." Edward's photographs assert the values of stability, permanence, concreteness, and intelligibility. Edward wants to present the simple physical fact of an object in all its native per- fection, without "subterfuge" or "adulteration."13 Brett's photographs tend to be ephemeral and coloristic. Move- ment and excitement predominate in his work. Every- thing is subordinated to powerful rhythms. Brett de-em-

phasizes the objective identity and corporeal presence of his subjects, and pushes active forms all the way to the

edge of the frame. His photographs are simply more com-

plex and difficult than his father's. They also differ from those of Aaron Siskind, who tends to produce simple flat

shapes on flat planes. Brett does not usually feel that a

shape on a flat plane reproduced onto the flat plane of the photograph is sufficiently exciting. He likes to set up tensions between our perception of the real object in

space and our perception of the same form as an abstract

shape on the picture surface, as I noted in the discussion of the Rusted Iron photograph. This perceptual vibra- tion accounts, at least in part, for the complexity, move-

ment, and excitement in his work. The viewer must exert himself when looking at one of Brett's photographs.

Brett also seems to enjoy showing the viewer a diffi-

cult or spectacular technical problem which has been

conquered with seemingly effortless ease and grace. The

Ford Trimotor, for example, is a tour de force of focus-

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11. Brett Weston, Sand Dune, Oceano, 1934.

12. Brett Weston, Untitled Sculpture, 1935.

All of the photographs by Edward Weston may be found in The Daybooks of Edward Weston. All photographs by Brett Weston are in his own collection. The titles for Edward's photographs are the same as those printed in the Daybooks. The titles for the Brett Weston photographs are my own.

403



sing ability. The handling of the rock cliffs in Glen Can- yon shows a superb mastery of the upper ranges of the tonal scale. Brett's photographs are often built around a sweeping, graceful S-curve, as in the Sand Dune of 1934 (Fig. 11). One also notices in this photograph the predominance of the negative black form in the center. This kind of negative form is quite common in Brett's work, but unknown in Edward's until after 1934.14 Many of Brett's photographs seem as impossible to a photographer as Bernini's handling of stone seems to a sculptor. In Brett's Kelp the subtlety of the tonal scale and the preci- sion and delicacy with which the highlights and shadow details have been placed is astounding. Of course, the full impact of this photograph can only be grasped in an original print. Edward Weston was a highly competent tech- nician, but Brett actually seems to revel in his difficult technique. In fact, words like facilita, grazia, and sprezza-

* I would like to take this opportunity to thank Professor Svetlana Alpers and Professor Loren Partridge of the Department of History of Art at the University of California, Berkeley and Bernard Freemesser, Professor of Photography at the University of Oregon, for their generous criticism and encouragement during the gestation of this article. I would also like to express my appreciation to Brett and Cole Weston for their help in obtaining original prints for the illustrations presented here. 1The most complete bibliography on Edward Weston can be found in the Aperture Monograph: Edward Weston, Photographer, edited by Nancy Newhall, New York, 1965. Nancy Newhall is the recognized authority on Edward Weston, and has been involved in most of the books and articles about him. A complete list of the books and articles on Edward Weston up to 1946 may be found in Nancy Newhall, The Photographs of Edward Weston, Museum of Modern Art, New York, 1946. Recent bibliography will be listed in Bernard Fremesser's bibliography soon to be published. A useful bibliography may also be found in Weston's own journal, The Daybooks of Edward Weston, New York, 1966, which were edited by Nancy Newhall.

Brett Weston's bibliography includes only one book: Merle Armitage, Brett Weston, New York, 1956. An exhibition catalogue, Brett Weston, Photographs (ed. Nancy Newhall), Amon Carter Art Museum, Fort Worth, Texas, 1966, contains a list of Brett's exhibits from 1927 to 1965, and a bibliography of the articles and reproductions of his work. 2 Paul Strand, ed. by the staff of Aperture, New York, 1971. This book accompanied a major retrospective exhibition. 3 Carl Chiarenza, for example, recently asked in an excellent review of Aaron Scharf's Art and Photography, in Art Journal, Spring 1972, p. 342: "How then can we deal with the disparities of imagery produced by Julia Margaret Cameron, Hill and Adamson, Nadar, Rejlander, and

LeGray: or W. Eugene Smith and Henri Cartier Bresson? Or Paul Ca- ponigro and Jerry N. Uelsmann?" This article is an attempt to answer exactly this question. 4 Although Edward Weston's style is consistent and recognizable through- out his career, he certainly developed and changed during his fifty years as a photographer. I hope to take up the question of the phases in this development in a later study, but for the purposes of the present article, I have been forced to treat Edward's work as a unit. The photographs discussed here were made rather early in his career and are more ac- cessible and single-minded than his later work. It also seems clear that some of Edward's later photographs were influenced by Brett, who had already achieved his own strong personal style by about 1930. Edward said as much. Edward was stricken with Parkinson's disease in the late 1940's, and his later photographs tend to be macabre, emotional "equiva- lents" for his own state of mind, a development often seen in the late 7vork of an artist. But, strangely, the few color photographs that Edward made in the late forties show the balance and clarity of his earlier work. It seems that Edward began in 1947 to solve the same kinds of basic problems in color (which is really a totally different medium) that he had solved in black and white at the beginning of his career: he me- thodically explored the properties of the new medium. This kind of differential development of media in a single artist is not uncommon. Michelangelo began sculpting the St. Mathew in 1512 at about the same

developmental level where he had left off sculpturally in 1506, as if the tremendous stylistic development in the paintings of the Sistine ceiling had never intervened.

tura, used in the Renaissance to describe the facility, grace, and effortlessness with which a great artist over- came technical problems, seem also to describe Brett's at- titude and style. Baldassare Castiglione, in his Courtier praised particularly the appearance of artlessness and effortlessness in a man or a work of art. He recognized, of course, that it takes the most art to appear "artless" or unselfconscious.

This essay has stressed the differences between the Westons in order to define their respective styles, but they obviously share some basic concerns, as their lifelong committment to the same photographic technique attests. Unlike so many contemporary photographers who have wearied of the external world, and have felt compelled to search their own minds for images, the Westons remain committed to what Richard Wilber has called "the things of this world."

5 Entry of April 24, 1930, from a statement sent to an exhibition. The Daybooks of Edward Weston, Volume II, p. 154. "It cannot be stressed enough that photographs suffer from reproduction as much as paintings and perhaps more, since most of us think of photography primarily as a medium of reproduction. We see so many photographs of poor technical quality in the print media that it never occurs to us that a photograph could be anything more. In fact, there is a great deal of difference in clarity, tonal depth, and immediacy between a fine contact print and a reproduction of it. Photography as the Westons use it thrives on the paradox between the extreme realism of the photographic image and forms, textures, and compositions as ab- stractions on the picture surface. The viewer of a fine contact print is first drawn irresistably into a world of explicit detail and clarity re- corded with more detail than the naked eye. The eye cannot travel far enough into the print to break down the image into a pattern of grains, and the trompe l'oeil effect intensifies as this inspection of the interior of the photograph continues. Then, as the formal organization on the picture surface begins to assert itself, a tension results between the realism and its artificial organization, and between the chaos and the order imposed on it.

If, on the other hand, the photograph is badly reproduced or poor technically, the viewer is distracted by the obvious grain pattern and the attenuated tonal scale, and the exciting tension never occurs. Any grain pattern exists by definition on the picture surface and the eye is always rudely forced back to the picture plane without exploring the deep space and luxuriant detail of the inner photograph. The spell of involvement is broken and the paradox disappears. Intellectualization that the photograph is, after all, only dots on a flat surface takes the upper hand, and the photograph becomes simply a "reproduction" of something else more important. It cannot be denied that many fine photographs have been made using small cameras, but these simply do not have the compelling presences of a contact print held in the hands. Photography as the Westons use it demands intimate and prolonged concentration, and, consequently, to view a reproduction of a photograph as if it were the original is a serious error in judgment. 7 Daybooks, Vol. I, p. 132-135. 8 Daybooks, May, 1929, V. II. p. 21; July-August, 1929, V. II, p. 128ff. 9 E. H. Gombrich, Art and Illusion, London, 1956. 10 David Alfaro Siqueiros, "Una Transcendental Labor Fotographica," El Informador (Guadalajara), September 4, 1925, copied by Weston into Daybooks, Vol. I, p. 128. Dody Weston Thompson, in "Edward Weston," The Malahat Review, #14, University of Victoria, 1970, p. 39, has as- serted that, "Weston's photographs are classic in the truest sense." " This statement and all other statements attributed to Brett Weston in this article are quoted to the best of my memory from several con- versations with him between 1967 and 1972. 12 Quoted after H. W. Saggs, The Greatness that was Babylon, New York, 1968, p. 451. 13 Daybooks, March 15, 1930, Vol. II, p. 147. 14 Brett insists that he was photographing sand dunes before his father became attracted to them, and it also seems clear to me that Edward's use of "negative form" is a direct result of Brett's prior use of it. Ed- ward said many times that he was influenced by Brett. As far as I can tell Brett Weston was the first man in the history of photography to systematically explore the possibilities of negative form.

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Brett Weston and Edward Weston: An Essay in Photographic Style