In 1976, I attended my first festival in Arles and told it as is in PHOTO.
René Burri saw his colleagues become stars
« Arles Photographic encounters: are a safari in a zoo ».
This cruel word is from Henri Cartier-Bresson. A mad individualist, two years ago he did not like those hundred students in search of teachers and those two hundred photographers in search of masters. This year they were even more numerous: two hundred for the first, four hundred for the second.
Prostitution with less business, fervor and enthusiasm in addition, Arles became the Cannes of photography. Not all photography unfortunately. Of one who wants to be creative, artistic, thoughtful, profound, in a word, introspective not to use a more vulgar expression.
“It’s the triumph of artistic porn and personal research,” said Marc Riboud coldly. It’s a bit true. Arles is for a week the capital of a psychodrama playing out fifty-one weeks of repression. Temple, cathedral, synagogue, a photographic domain where one succeeds (rarely), where one remains a failure (often), where one is adulated (sometimes), where one is embittered, envious and poor (always).
Out of the artistic photography, the fine art photography, following the pretty formula of the Americans, there is in Arles no point of salvation. And once a year, it’s the immutable theater of a play of seven hundred extras that respect the unity of time, action and place.
I shoot your portrait, you shoot my portrait …
Unity of place: a place, that of the Forum, lined with five cafes and two hotels including the North Pinus, long deserted by the Iberian toreadors because of the new wallpapers in the rooms.
The place of the Forum is the heart of the festival, hour after hour, day after day. During a week, five hundred people play, watching, criticising, despising and making images. When a photographer is alone, he is talking about photography. When he meets a confrere, they insult a third, when they are three, they draw portraits of each other.
Thirty meters from the square, a third hotel: the Arlatan, that of the photographers. If it had blown up that week, fine art photography would have been annihilated.
Apart from these two main spaces, there are four other annexes: the Réattu museum, the Pablo Neruda house (training center), the Palais des Congrès (35 minutes away from the arch) and the courtyard of l’Archevêché.
Unity of action: the same characters appear in turn. They came, they are all here.
The Pope: Ralph Gibson. He loves photographers so much that he considers each of them as the child he does not have. He is the messiah in Arles. It would take little for him to reach out and his disciples and « groupies” would kiss his hand. There is Leslie Krims, the cursed son, he will remain so besides, Michals the mystic, Christian Vogt extremely tense (the first day, one of his pupils told him: I do not love you. and he spent a sleepless night), Mary Ellen Mark detached, Marc Riboud busy, Guy Le Querrec, still messianic, David Hurn didactics, and then Ansel Adams, Bruno Barbey, Denis Brihat, Rene Burri, Yan Godzaide, Gisele Freund, C.Raymond Dityvon, Martine Franck, Will Mac Bride, Jeannie Niepce, George Rodger, Jean-Pierre Sudre, Hans Silvester, George Tourdjman. There is Pierre de Fenoyl, director of the foundation, from whom photographers begg for a scholarship or an order or who is insulted because the first went to a Belgian (yes!). This Belgian is Gruyaert, happy. With four million AF (6100 Euros) the price of the critique , he leaves for Morocco to quietly finish his book.
There is the pretty world of French and foreign photographic critics (obscene expression), gallery owners, photography experts and historians, publishers, diverse groupies of both sexes, and the three inevitable prettiest girls that everyone wants to seduce. And then, there is Lucien Clergue, a generous little man, a believer, fervent to the point of mysticism, working hard for his Rencontres, his child: secret ceremony which become over the years, a little more a fair, a little more a party.
200 students looking for masters
Unity of time finally: a week.
It begins Monday, July 12 at 7pm at the Palais des Congrès, with the press conference of Lucien Clergue and the presentation of the program. The Deputy Mayor apologises the Mayor, left the city, Arles is being twinned to an American city and he is replaced by a local miss.
Clergue, already nervous, thanked everyone, the deputy assistant is clinging to a representative of Cultural Affairs.
The incident is in the air, but ends very quickly.
We toast, we nibble, we drink, we discuss, we meet again, we look at the exhibitions: those, very beautiful, of, Mary Ellen Mark on a New York asylum, Hosoe, David Hurn of Magnum on Wales, Krims and Michals. Outside, the thunderstorm thunders, then burst out.
8:30pm. Interlude. Dinner with Raymond Depardon.
Behind Tintin, hides a very great reporter. His last trip to Tibesti is a six-month adventure novel, where camels, kilometers, Nikon lenses, Toubou warriors, off-piste trails to avoid the Tunisian, Algerian, Moroccan and especially Chadian authorities mix. After a first cold and unpleasant meeting with Hissen Habré, they stayed (he and Marie-Laure de Decker) two months and a half in a cave, before seeing Mr. Claustre and his wife.
On their returned, they avoided the drama. In the euphoria of relaxation, they found themselves without water, andl walked 24 hours to find a palm grove. They came back illegally through Switzerland, via Sicily, and their film will be banned.
Depardon, who has a thousand more projects: Vietnam, Cambodia, Rhodesia and a film about other reporters, came to Arles to reassure his parents who live a few kilometers away.
10pm. Projection of Magnum in the courtyard of the Archevêché.
At the microphone, Marc Riboud its president. Magnum is a very important agency, but its organisation is not very Swiss. The pictures in the slide carousel have been mixed. Drunk with fatigue after a week of workshops and three exhibitions to prepare, Riboud makes mistakes about author and owner. Photo of Charles Harbutt! No, it’s Burk Uzzle! (incomprehensible mistake) of Ian Berry! No, it’s David Hurn! from Georges Rodger! No, it’s Eve Arnold! The public, already acquired, forgives and applauds.
Some agency photographers, livid, leave the yard.
Pierre Gassman, in a low voice spit out,: “It’s like the archives, first we sell them, then we explain what it is”.
Riboud, moved, return to the projection and the second part of the program runs without error.
At the fantasy workshop: the teachers were the protesters
Fifty at lunch, one hundred and fifty at tea, two hundred at twilight, they are four hundred at half-past midnight on the Forum Square to show their pictures.
Two amazing figures: a dwarf with a portfolio almost as high as him and a dandy of the 50’s who walks with a yellow helmet on his head and a Nikon slung over his shoulder. From tables to tables, reflections makes one shudder: “Mc Cullin is only a reporter.” “Bourdin has been finished for the last 15 years”. “Newton is not as great as they say.” Leeks, potatoes, pebbles, landscapes, door knobs, tree bark, Krims plagiarism, Gibson, Michals, Harbutt Adams, are exchanged from table to table with congratulation and contempt.
The circus has started.
Tuesday, July 13th.
8:30am. Meeting with young photographers.
From heavy portfolios, they pull out sumptuous prints. Poor for the most part, they use the little money they have. uninteresting discussion about the container and the content, the signifier and the signified, the respect of the woman in nude photography. They go around in circles, they bite their tails, they are happy: to believe that to make images is only accessory.
9:00am. The American historian of photography, Weston Naef, who replaced Peter Bunnel, speaks at the Palais des Congrès of Bisson, Fenton and Rejlander. He had four listeners yesterday for Fox Talbot, he has twenty today. Success.
10:30am. Two hundred people are in the Forum Square to revel in the mistakes of the day before of Marc Riboud.
“Meeting with Marcel Riboud » is the headline of la Marseillaise. It’s the ultimate blow. Le Querec, Riboud, David Hurn and Mary Ellen Mark completed their reporting workshop. The happiest initiative in Arles.
While we do not learn to have an eye but 34 fanatics of photojournalism have, for a week, learned an approach, recipes, and especially have broken the isolation in which they lived most often. That’s positive.
Significantly, these are the least frequented workshops.
The distribution of these three workshops, that of Mary Ellen Mark merged with that of David Hurn, was surprising.
Around Riboud, mature and respectable people: a teacher, a cardiologist, an optician, a mountain guide, a professional journalist. Around David Hurn and Mary Ellen Mark, girls and young women including an Australian, mother of three children who saved her pennies to cover the cost of the trip. Around Le Querrec, young people aged 17 to 35, workers, students, unemployed, all very poor financially.
All paid 600 francs (92 Euros) for a week: the teachers receive 2200 francs (335 Euros).
David Hurn was very didactic, very classical, very professorial. He brought his students step by step, mostly through discussion, to the essentials of composition and form in a story.
Riboud built his atelier as a newspaper of which he would be the editor. Every day, after a lunch in common, his students left to follow a different event: fire, burial, wedding, gendarmes on a stroll they must bring back pictures. Some of their photos have even been published in the Provençal.
Le Querrec finally, was more interested in the deep personality of his students. Why do they want to be photojournalist? Why and for which media? Among them all, he discovers a common point: the need, the desire to testify. The Querrec makes them choose a theme: it will be holidaymakers. For seven days, they will spread 80 km around, in search of paid leave. The first two days are devoted to the correction of major defects of novices reporters: shyness and search for happenings in the viewfinder. On the morning of the third, the end of telephoto lens, everyone will use a 35 or a 50 mm. The other five days are devoted to practical work, up to three in the morning every night. Le Querrec will comment and criticise the contact sheets. All the students of the reporting courses are delighted, they mostly broke the geographical and psychological isolation in which they were mostly locked up.
11:15am.Place of the Forum.
Gibson appears. The portfolios come out. We do not talk about Marc Riboud anymore.
Marco Misani, director of the Swiss magazine “Print Letter”, inquires about the prices of the prints. Allan Porter, director of Camera, talks about his newspaper, about the girls of the Salvation Army and distributes to everyone his issue on the bicentennial of the United States seen through the work of Henri Cartier-Bresson.
Twenty-five tables of four people dissect each image. Crazy photographers are there, unbeatable. They all know the grain, the film, the detail. In front of them, any member of the staff of a photographic magazine is an ignorant moron.
Gibson, like a possessed visionary, is talking about new French photography. Which ? Does he want to talk about the monster imitated shamefully from the American school?
Apart from fashion, reporting or advertising, there is no French under 35 who has the least bit of talent in the field of “creative” photography.
The names of Claass, Descamps, Thersiquel, Nori, Bruno and other Plossu burst forth. It is better to leave …
12pm. The Critic and Jury Awards of young photographers.
Conducted by Clergue, two groups composed of Yan Dieuzaide, Sue Davis Ralph Gibson, Charles Harbutt, Mary Ellen Mark, Allan Porter, Marc Riboud, Julia Scully, Jean Claude Claude Claude, Claude Nori, Michel Nuridsany and Martine Voyeux, roam the rue de la République.
An astonishing spectacle of these notables of the still image, grouped as a school camp in the subway, stopping in front of forty windows where four pictures of forty young photographers are exposed and commenting them aloud in front of the bewildered traders.
At the Marseillaise Bank of Credit, poorly hung prints fell to the ground, which triggered a general alarm. Four more prints in a butcher’s shop are stained with blood. Elisabeth Lennard is exposed between a vacuum cleaner and a mixer. Another serves as a display for Franck et Fils shirts. A second for beauty products. Sue Davis makes a mistake and notices an advertisement from Sarah Moon. Charles Harbutt, skeptical, remains behind. He has just discovered an impressive number of bastards. He does not want to recognise them.
A young photographer, lurking at the corner of a shop, observes, haggard and inquisitive.
Gibson and Riboud insult a shopkeeper who has just closed shop, forcing them to look at the photos by a half-open door. A second trader, has left for lunch.
Forty photographers therefore, and a huge disappointment. Old-fashioned images . Servile copies, without imagination and without talent.
1pm. Meeting of the two juries.
First prize: a fake Bullock, Francis Méchain.
Second prize: a Harbutt plagiarism: Bruno.
Third prize: a bad Robert Franck, Thami Ennadre.
Excluding copiers, a fake Krims, very funny, Gerard Dupuy, who had exposed images of a man with the head of Jacques Chirac pursuing a very ugly woman, deserved better the 2000 francs reward.
2pm. Lunch with Duane Michals.
His workshop terrifies him. “I feel like a chicken without his down,”. Conversation about his idols, Penn and Bourdin, and the New York photographic intellectual circus. Duane Michals is full of humor, charm and intelligence. How can one ask three individualists like him, Krims and Vogt, to teach photography, they who are only marginals full of talent?
3:30pm. Spectacular turn of events: the juries, after deliberation, reversed the awards.
The first became third, the second, first, third: second and vice versa. It’s the same thing.
4:30pm. Palais des Congrès. Screening of Raymond Dityvon’s film by Viva: “Is this the way men live”, on immigrant workers. The photos are beautiful, the comment is boring.
5:30pm. 18th aggression against “PHOTO”. And yet the magazine showed them for eight years what they discover with delight today!
6pm. Reattu Museum. A good exhibition of the photos of Riboud, sculptures strangely strong o Mrs. Riboud, beautiful images of Man Ray presented by the Foundation of photography. Those of Ernst Haas are too well known, as well as those of Bill Brandt from the private collection of Michel Tournier.
7:30pm. Forum Square. The portfolios are there, including the dwarf and the man with the helmet. Twenty-nine people asked Pierre De Fenoyl for money: it’s not over.
10pm. English evening. First part: young British photographers. They are boring to death, with the exception of David Hurn. Second part: Georges Rodger. Wonderful images of a gentleman, former great Life photographer, who first discovered the Nuba.
Midnight. Reception at the Town Hall. Clash between the Deputy Mayor and Pierre Bardin, representative of the Minister of Cultural Affairs. “Arles does not receive any subsidies,” says the first. “It’s wrong, replies the second, we give ten million AF (15245 Euros) out of the forty that costs the festival”.
Wednesday, July 14th. 9:30am. 35 people at the Weston Naef conference on documentary intent in the landscape photography of O’Sullivan, Muybridge, Frith and Bedford: an unmatched record.
11:00am. The scandal. The grand prize of the 1976 book, awarded by Julia Scully, Ralph Gibson, Jean-Pierre Sudre, Peter Turner, Jean Maurice Rouquette and Lucien Clergue, goes to “Paris” by Francis Hidalgo. When one knows that there was in competition: “the whole photographic collection of Life”, “The Nuba” of Leni Riefensthal, “America” of Ernst Haas, “Lectures” of André Kertesz, “Take one pill and see the Mount Fujiyama » Duane Michals, Jay Maisel’s “Jerusalem” and Kelly Wise’s “Photographer’s Choice”: there is consternation and shame. “We wanted to crown the creating effort of a French author, publisher and printer,” says Clergue, without realizing the enormity.
1:30pm. Lunch at Les Baux de Provence, in the quarry of the Testament of Orpheus .
On the menu: pâté, salmon stir fry, camembert and peach. It costs 30 francs (4.5 Euros) for the wives of photographers who were not invited. Everyone is pleased, everyone is happy, everyone is photographing themselves. In a world premiere, a crazy Polish, Kasismierz Urbanski, presents his audiovisual “Antiphone”. Flowing, moving, burning pictures. It is even worse than the lights shows in New York in the Sixties.
5pm. Bullfight on horseback, in Méjanes. In the arena, the Peralta brothers, the French Jacques Bonnier and the fabulous Lupi. The only festival goer Bruno Barbey is there, trying his new Minolta.
7pm. Cocktail at Lucien Clergue’s place. Pretty house. Charming home. The top of the crop of the festival is present. Nobody asks Pierre de Fenoyl for money.
8pm. Forum Square. The same 450 portfolios. “You should show your pictures to Peter Knapp,” advises, without any trace of humor or irony, an apprentice photographer to the author of a report on Togolese shantytowns.
10pm. Free evening for young photographers in the courtyard of the Archevêché. 20 portfolios are on display. Fifty are projected 68 bad. Two good ones: Gaumy from the Gamma agency, up and coming for photojournalism, and Clay Langdon, a 19-year-old boy who photographed old American cars in the streets of New York in color. “It’s only good for Photo,” is yelled in the room. Bad luck for them, it’s Zoom that brought him.
Midnight. The 450 portfolios are in the square. No author will go dancing at popular balls. What a Pity !
Thursday, July 16th.
10am. One of the highlights of this festival: Sir Roland Penrose’s lecture on Man Ray. As an audience: thirty people, fifteen of whom are only there to photograph him. A rare moment of intelligence and humor. Penrose is a well of stories and anecdotes. Three attentive spectators: Michals, Krims and Tourdjman. Tasty anecdotes. “Is not this artistic blur sublime,” asked a lady one day, showing a photo to Man Ray. “It’s worse than that,” the master replied. The accidental discovery of the rayographer in the bathroom of a Montparnasse hotel room by Man Ray’s wife is discussed. We mention Atget, the great surrealists, Breton’s response to Stravinsky who wanted to compose a music about his writings. “Your grand piano, you can shove it in the ass”. Tzara, the Marquise Casati: “But I have never been more beautiful,” she replied to Man Ray, who shamefully presented her with a portrait in which, trembling, she found herself with three mouths and six ears. A great moment pursued by an exchange between Penrose and Michals on surrealism in photography. Meanwhile, forty aspiring photographers enter, take a snapshot, then leave, sad, very sad. Hopeless.
1pm. Group lunch at the Palais des Congrès. Nobody came. Clergue then announces a dinner in common. Mandatory this time. Nothing is lost.
2pm. Lunch with Christian Vogt. The revelation of the year 76 wanted to be a sculptor and it was only after existential fugues in the 70s, in Italy and London, that he turned to still photography. Vogt feels very uncomfortable with his students. As for Michals and Krims, it’s worse. When opening his studio, Michals said to his students, “What’s important here is not photography. We are thirteen in this room, which of you will die first? “. Krims spoke about his revelation of the Virgin coming to visit him with a Nikon in her hand. Few students appreciated the humor of these two friends of the absurd.
4pm. Conference at the Palais des Congrès on photographic editions. Present: Nicolas Ducrot of Visual Books, Ralph Gibson of Lustrum Press, Lionel Suntop of Ligh Impression, Bill Turnage, Herscher of Editions Chêne, Mrs. Messard de la Fnac, Claude Nori of Editions Contrejour, Mr. Sabater of Agep Editions, Janine Silvere Presses of Knowledge. Allan Porter of Camera and Peter Turner of Creative Camera. The second, Clergue evokes the Camargue, his 15000 clichés and anxieties. The third, Herscher, is justified. There, the critic of Nueva Lente gets carried away: “I have the impression to attend a conference of the 1950s. The real problems are not addressed. We are not here to talk about classical publishing, but about all possible forms of media. Claude Nori from Contrejour intervenes. He has just released seven books of 15 images at 15 francs. Apart from Martine Franck and Gaumy, the choice is ominous. At Contrejour there is a kind of terrorism, militant leftism, aggressive provocation, but at least the idea is good. Clergue silences him. During this conference, we will never talk about money, public, profitability, circulation. It must be bad and vulgar.
10pm. Court of the Archevêché. First part: fantastic evening. Vogt shows without a word his images, Krims also.
The photo of the vacuum cleaner unleashes some tumult. Michals speaks again of death. While an honorable Italian critic speaks of fantastic, conceptual and symbolic, Georges Tourdjman fights with a folding chair that refuses to unfold. 15 times he pinches himself, 15 times he fails. It’s Buster Keaton facing an infernal machine. It lasts 10 minutes with howls of laughter. Thirty more seconds, and Lucien Clergue would have put him in the corner.
11pm. Screening of Man Ray’s photos and Jean-Marie Drot’s film “La Bande à Man Ray” with Tristan Tzara, Alberto Giacometti, Max Ernst, Patrick Walberg and Merry Oppenheim. Incidentally, Penrose, who comments the photos, recalls that in 1937 Henri Cartier-Bresson and Man Ray had released a little book entitled “No, photography is not art.” Nobody says a word. Twenty-one people today asked Pierre de Fenoyl for money.
Friday, July 16th.
10 am. Contrejour Gallery.
The editorial staff of the newspaper rented a room for the duration of the festival, exhibiting different photos every day. “Photography must be in the people, like a fish in the water! “. Not wanting to fall into the cliché “reac”, that’ll the day and it is not the conceptual sequences of Daniel Quesney that will bring “the Big Evening”.
In the window: “What is love,” a high school student photo novel, fruit of a collective work. A copy of Nous Deux, mysticism, tarots, stoned and free love: to cry for. Do not even talk about images. To change your life, change your photography.
11am. Forum Square. Gibson is not here. He is at the swimming pool of the Forum Hotel. His grandchildren are looking for him.
12am. Weston Naef ends his lectures with form and antiform in the twentieth century.
1pm. Lunch with Leslie Krims.
Crazy? Not at all. Provocateur? Perhaps. Mischievous, surely. He is preparing to rephotograph his hands and bubbles up for a thousand and one new images. The learned, aggressive and academic tone of these encounters bores him very deeply. In the afternoon, in his workshop, he will go beyond the limits. “Are you in pain somewhere,” he asks his students? “. “the head, the liver, the stomach, some answer”. “Press your favorite photo and press it against the sick place and think about it very hard”. It is healing by the still image. The pupils are livid with hatred.
4pm. Congress Palace. Second part of the conference pblishing.
Peter Turner, Georges Herscher, Nicolas Ducrot and Allan Porter intervene. A respectable Czech speaks, it is five o’clock. At 6, she approaches the year 1957. Three people sleep, two make drawings, five discuss. The helmeted fool accidentally entered the room, makes us smile. Gibson looks for the pretty girls. A Swiss turns the wrong button of the simultaneous translation device, and captures, veryloudly, Radio Monte Carlo.
6:30pm. The Czech begins the year 1963. Abandon of the conference. Fed up. Fifteen minutes later, exhausted, the participants will interrupt and applaud the amazed lady.
7pm. Forum Square. The 450 regulars are always there, exchanging, mischief, compliments and deep reflections, 12 people are trying to seduce Martine Voyeux of the Daily of Paris.
Le Querrec makes a Polaroid, piss, spit on it and muddy it. “The work of Leslie Krims,” he proclaims. It’s a bit easy. One of Krims’s students defends him. Last year he had been even more unlucky. He was in Tana Kaleya’s workshop. Twenty-four hours after the beginning of the internship, the beautiful Tana had gone to give private lessons to her favorite student for the entire week.
10pm. Court of the Archevêché. American evening. With the exception of the photographs of Ralph Gibson, Charles Harbutt and Marie Ellen Mark, it is to die of boredom.
Judy Dater, Jack Welpott, Doug Stewart, Imogen Cunningham, Wynn Bullock, Minor White and bonus Ansel Adams and his redwoods. He was invited two years ago. He came back today for his own pleasure.
We attend a big issue of demagoguery about young people. “I like youth. I make room for them today. The proof, I gave all the negatives at the University in California. Behind the scenes, some people laugh and murmur that the donation was actually paid 250 000 dollars: 125 million AF (220 000 Euros). Weariness begins to be felt. And at one o’clock in the morning, the 450 portfolios are still there.
Saturday, July 17th.
10am. House Pablo Néruda. This is the end of the workshop dedicated to the fantastic. In the courtyard, Krims chats with three students, looking absent. Michals shows his sequences. Vogt directs his ultimate practical work. His models are a chubby and muscular girl, and an ascetic boy. They are both naked, the boy wants to constantly put on his pants. The students refuse. The accessories of the shooting session: a mirror and a piece of glass. Vogt serves as an assistant to the students.
1pm. The inevitable meal in the Camargue, with rich owners.
The procession of eighty cars and two coaches (for the less fortunate) follows the white scarf of the organizers, who took the lead.
Clergue exhausted, stayed at home.
Méchoui therefore: on the menu bull, rice and Camargue wine. It is still 30 francs for the women of uninvited photographers.
Protesters at the entrance of the property organized a free meal without any success. In the manade, two bulls are released, a calf is branded with a hot iron, drinking and shooting, as always. The three most beautiful girls suffer the last assaults. Some couples scatters in the countryside.
7pm. Review Conference of Lucien Clergue.
If the contacts with the municipality and the public authorities succeed, he will create next year a permanent center for the Rencontres photographies d’Arles. he looks exhausted, and nervous, this funny little man deserves some admiration.
10pm. Court of the Archevêché. Eikoh Hosoe presents his book: “Ordeal by Roses” and his latest nudes. Surprised by the endless discussions of the author, the public reacts badly, hisses, storm. Lucien Clergue gets carried away, thunders, threatens. Haas, with his images of bullfighting, America, and his latest work on Germany, relaxes the atmosphere.
Midnight. Forum Square. 120 portfolios say goodnight. The party is over. The heart is no longer there. We will make an appointment for next year. Only three people today asked Pierre de Fenoyl for money.
Sunday, July 18th.
10am. Forum Square. The dwarf photographer bids farewell and gets into his big car specially arranged for him. The man with the helmet only has his Nikon. Papers and leaflets fly here and there. The evening before, the group “Untel”, contesting the festival, unrolled a roll of blank newspaper 350 meters long, enlarged replica of a 24 x36. Everyone made graffitis commentaries and observations.
A photo lies on the ground, it’s the funniest of all the festival. It represents a young girl caressing herself reading the program of the Rencontres d’Arles, now finished.
To the few personalities still present, Clergue whisper next year’s program: Gamma agency, Joseph Sudek, Gisèle Freund and … Ralph Gibson.