Hervé Gloaguen‘s book, À Rome la nuit, is published by Contrejour.
In 1974, Hervé Gloaguen, a member of the Viva agency, was one of the few French photographers to express himself in color, while most of his colleagues used black and white in the humanist tradition. During a trip to Italy, traveling from north to south with his wife and daughter, he stopped in Rome and parked his Volkswagen camper van on a hill overlooking the city. He recounts:
Our daughter was born a few weeks ago. What a joy.
The day after her birth in Paris, I flew to Portugal: the “Carnation Revolution” had ended the dictatorship, the country was preparing a big parade for May Day, and political exiles were landing at Lisbon airport. As a photographer with the VIVA agency, I had to be there.
Back in Paris three days later.
The era was one of activism and disregard for money, at least in the circles we frequented.
In Paris, behind the Opera, there’s the American Express. Young foreigners visiting Europe come there to pick up mail and money. Americans, Australians, and New Zealanders have arrived via Amsterdam, bought a used Volkswagen Bus there, and traveled through Germany, Italy, Spain, and France. For some unknown reason, they have to leave from Paris; their flights are scheduled for a specific date, so they need to sell their vehicles as quickly as possible.
Several tired Buses are lined up along the sidewalk. A quick glance, the prices are within our means, we pay in cash, and head to the suburbs to a special service to change the registration and headlights. In Holland, the headlights are white, in France they’re yellow.
Now we can dream.
At the end of July, we headed for Italy. Basic equipment: a large mattress, a gas canister, a stove, a few utensils. Anne and I took turns driving. In the evening, the little one slept in a bassinet on the front seat.
The south of France, the Italian Riviera, Genoa, Venice; we stocked up in villages where women flocked to see BIMBA FRANCESA wriggling happily, sheltered from the blazing sun.
Now we were heading to the Po Valley: I wanted to see this immense marshy delta immortalized by Roberto Rossellini in his film Païsa (1946).
We leave our van somewhere and find ourselves in a boat with a family in swimsuits who, through the reeds, want to go to a lighthouse with an exceptional view of the surroundings. After an hour, we arrive there. A warm welcome, everyone goes up to the footbridge, a splendid view of the Po Delta. I enthusiastically take photos under the knowing and kind gaze… And then we have to go down and return to dry land. I shake the guard’s hand: “Thank you! It’s very beautiful here.” He stares at me, impassive, “You know, photos are forbidden here, it’s a military zone.” Meravigliosa Italia!
On to Bologna now. A bomb exploded on the Rome-Munich train, killing twelve and injuring forty-eight. The far right claimed responsibility for the attack, and the STRAGE dell’ ITALICUS made the front page of all the newspapers.
In Bologna, a ceremony was planned in the cathedral. President Giovanni Leone was there with the entire government. I must be in shorts and sandals, I don’t remember, but I easily photographed all these officials in black frock coats and ties.
Two days later, it was Rome.
Parked along an avenue near the FORI ROMANI, we hoisted our daughter onto a statue of a Roman emperor to immortalize her arrival in the Eternal City. The next day, we set up camp at the MONTE ANTENE campsite on a hill a few minutes from the city center; tents, cars, caravans—the Europe of budget travelers is there, under the pine trees, sheltered from the sun.
We approach Rome in our own way. First, the outskirts, the ancient VIA APPIA, and, on the opposite side, SAN BASILIO, a neighborhood of ordinary people, dilapidated buildings, and junk cars. The reporter wants to see it all.
One evening, we find ourselves in the heart of Rome. It’s “the” shock, the whole city is there.
After the scorching days, the Romans come to seek coolness by the fountains that line the CENTRO STORICO. Against a backdrop of churches and palaces darkened by the night, Rome plays out its daily drama. The Romans are both actors and spectators, with the tourists as extras, in the show they put on for themselves. They drink, they eat, they watch, they are watched, they caress the still-warm stone, the skin of the city.
The clamor of voices, the trickling of water, a setting built on layers of centuries, the darkness of night as a backdrop, Renaissance palaces, Baroque churches, and the people of Rome: bourgeois, students, soldiers, concierges, newlyweds, elderly aristocratic couples, tourists from all over the world. It’s love at first sight!
Photographing Rome at night in color without a flash is a wonderful challenge, a wonderful adventure. Unity of place, unity of action, unity of time—my roadmap is all mapped out: I will return to Rome, it will take time and some more time.
Hervé Gloaguen
Hervé Gloaguen : À Rome la nuit
Éditions Contrejour
22 x 31 cm,
96 pages
40 euros
www.editions-contrejour.com
