Kertész the shadow man in full view at the WAG

Hungarian-born photographer André Kertész is a bit of an enigma, like the shadows that predominate his work. After purchasing his first camera at age 18, he was called into service in World War I where he photographed moments from life in the trenches, developing a mature, engaging style that would span his entire career from Hungary, to France, to the United States.

As a commercial photojournalist, Kertész’s work was published in French, German, and American magazines, through which he steadily gained an international reputation for his innovative use of camera angles, composition, distortion, and the effects of light.

The current exhibition on at the Winnipeg Art Gallery (WAG), titled Shadow Marks, is the gallery’s effort to provide a sort of introductory class to Kertész for the unaware (which, presumably, would be quite a few), showcasing select works from his career beginning in 1914 and ending around 1980.

Although it only contains a small 30 pieces from the WAG’s collection of 180 Kertész photographs, the exhibit nonetheless offers an excellent overview of the photographer’s unusual and thought-provoking style.

Disappearing Act (1955)

Perhaps due to lack of space (the WAG is currently showcasing Inuit sculpture, Nunavik art, European Renaissance and Baroque pieces, and the Indigenous exhibit Close Encounters) Kertész’s exhibit has been placed in the smallest gallery room (#3) of the WAG on the third floor, which at first glance gives the impression that the exhibit is rather insignificant.

To get the full effect of Kertész’s art, enter not from the Skylight Gallery, but from gallery #1 or #4 which house a variety paintings in full colour that make entering an entire room of black and white photography a refreshing contrast.

In keeping with Kertész’s minimalist black and white theme, the works are displayed in oversized frames with thick, clean white boarders around each photo, then divided among the four walls into Kertész’s key periods: Hungarian, French, and American.

Lighting can make or break an exhibit, but in this case the WAG has done well to use overhead track lighting which makes the room appear light, inviting, and not as small, while reducing the amount of glare on the photographs for viewers.

Washington Square, Winter (1966)

The exhibit begins with a silhouette photo of the artist along with a short biography, after which it takes a chronological approach to layout, with each photo representing one, sometimes seven years from Kertész’s career. This approach is a good choice for viewers new to Kertész in that it is quite easy to stand in the middle of the room and be able to view his changes in themes and shifts in style and subject matter as he developed his art further.

It is from this angle that even the casual viewer can plainly see how groundbreaking Kertész’s work was – back in the twentieth century, and today. While all of Kertész’s photos depict ordinary, everyday objects, he captures them in such a way that we no longer see them as such. Even the most mundane of snowy city streets covered in tire tracks and footprints is transformed into a maze of intricate patterns by Kertész’s impressive talent of altering perspective.

One of his more popular pieces, Satiric Dancer – also on display at the WAG – is a studio portrait, but not in the traditional sense. Here, the woman as subject is posed contorted on a couch, imitating the corner wall behind her. This is the true Kertész style: an eclectic mix of still-life, portraits, and street photography, which possess an intriguing story-like quality. In fact, Kertész is considered by many photographers to be the father of photojournalism – a fact you won’t find stated anywhere in the Shadow Marks exhibit.

Apart from a brief biography, the room is completely void of information about the works and the artist, save for a handful of wall texts. As an introductory exhibit, more could have been done to answer some obvious questions – for instance, how many of Kertész’s photos were staged (certainly the headless mannequin and duck composition of Rencontre demands an explanation) and why he seemed to shift between the relatively ‘normal’ portraits and still life, to the bizarre distortions and street photography throughout his career.

Satiric Dancer (1926)

What is made evident, however, is Kertész’s place in the larger realm of the art world, albeit through an interesting comparison. Strategically placed around the room among the photographs are black and white pieces of stoneware in various shapes that echo Kertész not only in colour, but also in theme. One particular pair of vases is described as retaining the traditional form of the vessel while having been altered to assume a more artful, sculpture-like quality.

This, in fact, is the essence of Kertész’s work and his contribution to the artistic community, in that through his photographs he has reframed the traditional, and altered the ordinary, to create art in a new way out of unlikely subjects. Shadow Marks recognizes this, and is an overall excellent introduction to his work.

Shadow Marks runs until September 9, 2011 at the Winnipeg Art Gallery.