I have thought a while about putting this on my blog. In the end I am doing so as it is a key element of my course and also a stepping stone towards Assignment 5.
Rhein II, Worth $4.3M?
On November
the 8th, 2011, the hammer fell at Christie’s Auction house in New
York; $4,338,500 was paid for a 190 x 380 cm chromogenic colour print of a
photograph. Andreas Gursky’s Rhine II (1999) had captured the title
of “Most Expensive Photograph in the World”.
The
Blogosphere erupted in indignation, electronic roars of “$4M for a photo?”, “I
could have taken that!”, and “more money than sense”, typified the responses. More serious commentary was mixed: Maev
Kennedy of The Guardian commented somewhat pithily “a sludgy image of the grey
Rhine under grey skies” (2011). By
contrast Florence Waters of The Telegraph wrote; “This image is a vibrant,
beautiful and memorable – I should say unforgettable - contemporary twist on
Germany’s famed genre and favourite theme: the romantic landscape, and man’s
relationship with nature.” (2011)
Four years
earlier, another photographic work of art by Andreas Gursky had sold for
$2.48M, 99 Cent Diptychon
(2001). Gursky now held positions 1 and
3 in the value stakes for art photography. In both cases the art works were
huge in scale and significant digital alterations had been made to the original
photographs.
So, who is
Andreas Gursky and why is his work so valued?
Andreas Gursky
was born in January 1955 in Essen, the heartland of Germany’s industrial
Ruhr. He was born into a family of
commercial photographers: both father and grandfather worked in advertising,
however, Andreas was to be the first artist in the family. Subsequently Gursky
was never far from a camera; even appearing in some of his father’s advertising
work (Galassi 2001). Growing up during the time of Germany’s Wirstschaftswunder
(Economic Miracle), he directly experienced the explosive growth of the economy
and surge in consumerism that marked the 1960s.
As did many other German teenagers he rebelled against the new materialism,
a rebellion that echoes in his subsequent work.
Rather than do compulsory military service he took the longer road as a
Zivi (Zivildienstler) – in other words a conscientious objector who performed
public service in the community.
In 1977 he
returned to the family trade and enrolled in the photography program at the
Folkswangschule in Essen. Under the
tutelage of Michael Schmidt, the emphasis was very much on preparation for a
career as a photojournalist or commercial photographer: a 35mm Leica the camera
of choice and Henri Cartier-Bresson the paragon the students strove to emulate. Looking at Gursky’s work during the time he
spent at Essen it is not easy to see the beginnings of the work that
subsequently brought him fame. Schmidt also
brought to Gursky awareness of the emerging American art photography movement,
and in particular the influence of Robert Adams and his objective documentation
of the suburban sprawl of mid-west America.
Whilst his
days at the Folkswangschule grounded Gursky in the basic tenets of photography,
it was his next step that would begin the rise to the summit of the art
world. Completing his studies in Essen,
Gursky packed up his best work and sought employment as a photojournalist. Without success. Consulting a friend, Thomas Struth, he was firmly
pointed in the direction of the Kunstakademie in Düsseldorf. Here he came under the influence of the
husband and wife team, Bernd and Hilla Becher.
Although Bernd Becher held the title Professor, he and Hilla worked and
taught as a team, indeed much of the tuition and critical discussions took
place at their home rather than at the Akademie. Inspired
by the Neue Sachlichkeit (New Objectivity) of Weimar era Germany, their work
and tutoring emphasized a practical engagement with the world, through photographs
that accurately and faithfully recorded that which stood before the lens
(Gronert, 2009). Above all a dedication to craft and method infused their
ethos; they were the diametric opposite of the Otto Steinert influenced
Folkswangschule, where the serendipity of street photography was a stronger
influence.
It was into
this demanding yet intimate world that Gursky entered in 1980, one of a class
that at the time included Candida Höfer, and Thomas Ruff. After a year of general tuition Gursky engaged
in a six year Master Apprentice relationship with Bernd Becher, at the end of
which Becher alone would decide whether or not he deserved the title of Meisterschüler
(Master Student).
This was
the beginning of the development of Gursky as an art photographer, although still
within the strict constraints imposed by the Bechers. A core element of their training was the
construction of typologies, requiring the repetitive creation of a series of
photographs of thematically linked subjects.
In Gursky’s case this involved two notable studies: one of details of
the interiors of bars and cafés (a natural choice for a student); the other of
Pförtner (desk attendants) who sit at the entrance to German companies. This
latter series earned Gursky his Graduation from the Akademie. Gently humorous, these observations of the
serious faced desk attendants draw attention to the fact that they sit in
pairs, ensuring the security of the building not only from interlopers, but
also from each other. Pförtner, Spaeter, Duisburg (1982, pictured) already contains essential
elements that would become Gursky’s trademarks: a nascent commentary on the
commercialism of the modern world, deadpan framing and the reduction of the
photograph to a single image plane.
A vital
aspect of the education Gursky received from the Bechers resulted in the replacement
of his Leica by a 5x4 or 7x5 view camera (Galassi 2001). Gursky also came under the influence of the
New Topology movement in the USA and in particular Stephen Shore and Joel
Sternfeld. The view camera and American
influence further supplemented his visual style, by inclusion of penetrating
detail and the adoption of colour, stepping away from the stark monochrome of
the Bechers own work.
To this mix
of framing, detail, colour, and social commentary, a final component was needed
that would eventually propel his work into the big league of art photography: theatricality. Whilst at the Kunstakademie Gursky had met
with and become a friend of Jeff Wall, the Canadian artist noted for
elaborately constructed photographs that have a cinematic quality, both in creation
and structure. Wall was to have a
significant influence on Gursky’s direction as he made his first forays into
large scale imagery (Burnett 2005). Fortunately,
whilst Wall clearly influenced the size and chromatic intensity of Gursky’s
work, Gursky did not follow his path of constructed realities: his photographs
remained grounded in the real, even if it was an intensified real.
Upon
graduation Gursky’s work centred on people within the environment, sometimes
portrayed as lonely aliens in a mechanistic world, but mostly captured en-masses
at their leisure; always small, rarely identifiable, just dots in the
landscape. Chance development of a
photograph taken whilst vacationing in Austria (Klausenpass 1984 – Plate 1 in Galassi 2001), revealed within the
rugged mountainous terrain tiny dots, people walking up and down the
hillside. At first glance the walkers
appear randomly scattered; however, careful study reveals patterns created by
the morphology of the hillside and social relationships of people in the
photograph. This almost revelatory
experience led to a series of photographs that revealed the manner in which
humans cluster together. A prime example
may be found in Schwimmbad Ratingen
(1987, pictured). Gursky positions
the camera high above the scene and looking down; people become objectified and
the eye dwells not on the individual but upon their relative position within
the community.
During the
late 80’s and early 90’s Gursky created a number of photographs that revealed
the vulnerability and isolation of mankind confronted by nature: Seilbahn, Dolomiten (1987 – Plate 7 in
Galassi 2001) and Niagra Falls (1989
– Plate 8 in Galassi 2001) both place the subjects in the grip of forces
seemingly outside their control. Gursky
also made what at first glance seems a rather bland, almost banal landscape of
the river Ruhr (1989, pictured),
showing a stretch of the river bounded at the far end by an Autobahn bridge, occupied
by small groups of anglers. This photograph
captures two key elements of Gursky’s philosophy at the time: the encroachment
of modernity represented by the motorway, contrasting with the need of people
to find a space within which to shelter from this intrusion. Greater knowledge
of the location reveals the precious nature of this viewpoint; to the side and
behind the photographer sat industrial works characteristic of the Ruhr valley
(Hentschel 2008). An example of
objective reality obscured by the taking of a photograph, or perhaps the
beginning of the intensification of reality that Gursky brought to his later
work.
The stage
was set: Gursky had the tools, a distinct world view, and now entry. He was an established artist carrying art
world credentials granting him access to normally inaccessible places from
which he would start to create some of the most stunning photographs of the
past 20 years. The small groups of
people became vast crowds filling the frame, his objective viewpoint became
almost godlike, and the detail captured by his view camera was multiplied by
the digital merger of multiple frames to create huge tapestries of colour and
complexity. His photographs grew in size
to a maximum height of 180cm limited only by printing technology, width
essentially bounded by the length of a roll of paper and the ability to frame
such a colossus (Galassi 2001). The size
of these images was driven not by grandiosity, but by the need to reveal the
detail within the frame. This was the
moment that photography began to seriously rival painting in demand for gallery
space: the size of the images brought a similar gravitas that fine art painting
had exclusively enjoyed for centuries.
Gursky was
now producing carefully planned singular works of art, the medium of
photography enabling, but not constraining his vision. Each work required months of planning and
conceptual thought. The act of
photographing would take place over several days and involve multiple
exposures, often needing very sophisticated lighting. The negatives would be scanned and then
combined on a computer, not by Gursky himself, but by a technician working under
his direction. Further photographs might
need to be made, enabling the addition of details not present when the original
shots were taken, and unnecessary elements of the original images could be
removed (Schmidt-Garre 2011). Hamm, Bergwerk Ost (2008, pictured), chronicled in Schmidt-Garre’s
documentary, presents a good example of the complex image construction and
working technique favoured by Gursky.
The hanging baskets containing miners’ personal effects are a
fabrication of overlapping individual images; the people below were shot days
later and added into the photograph to create a human dimension.
Contained
within Gursky’s visual creations are a number of elements that build not only upon
his own history, but also draw upon the world of modern art. His repetitive themes echo the work of
Gerhard Richter (Paris, Montparnasse
1993 – Plate 28 in Galassi 2001), whilst his frequent use of horizontal stripes
of colour and form bring to mind Mark Rothko (Rhein II 2001, pictured). This, combined with the craftwork involved in
the creation of his works and the lengthy production process leading to a
limited flow of new work, makes a Gursky photograph more comparable to a
painted work than the mechanical reproduction referenced by Walter Benjamin
(1934). I believe this underlies the rapid rise in value of Gursky’s work; his
creations are not valued so much as photographs, but as unique statements in
modern art. The fact that they are
photographs is almost incidental to their worth.
Ironically whilst
he profits from his endeavours, I suspect that Gursky is gently mocking the
worlds he portrays: the stock markets, the docks full of cars waiting to be
loaded, the towering architectural edifices, and artificial islands built to
house the obscenely wealthy. By
photographing these spaces and enhancing their reality through digital
repetition of form and structure, he is drawing attention to the innate
commercialisation and hectic speed at which the modern world proceeds. The Chicago
Board of Trade (1999, pictured) is
typical of these “commercial” photographs, replete with colour and energy,
money is being made.
Gursky’s
rise to fame mirrored that of his contemporaries Ruff, Struth, and Höfer, all graduates
of the same school during the same era, often collectively referred to within
the context of Düsseldorf. However, I
feel that the differences are greater than the similarities. In their early work the Bechers influence is
plain to see, but within a few years of leaving the Kunstakademie each took
their own distinct path. Struth and
Gursky are alike in their attention to detail and the monumental scale of their
work, but separated by subject and philosophy (Kruszynski et. al. 2010). Ruff’s highly experimental style has taken
him far from Gursky, his reworking of JPEGs and Nudes being the anti-thesis of
the detailed work of Gursky (Ruff 2012). Höfer seems captured by an almost “Becheresque”
compulsion to photograph empty indoor spaces (Krüger 2003).
The guiding
hands of the Bechers have provided the art world with a new creative force, a
group of now mature artists taking photographic art to new heights and in new
directions. They are not without criticism;
an oft quoted article in Professional Photographer asks “Has the Düsseldorf
School killed photography?” (Scott 2011).
There is some truth in this statement, the risk is ever present that young
or aspiring photographers will slavishly create similar imagery, but devoid of
emotion and containing oppressive visual complexity. I feel this is always the case in art; leaders
influence followers who try in vain to reach the same heights, then another
leader comes along and the crowd changes direction. Critically for student, emulating, but not
aping the work of the greats is an essential way to develop one’s own
practice. The key is selectivity, take elements
that drive individual progress, but do not simply recreate existing work. In examining Gursky’s 30 years of work it is
his attention to detail and working ethos that influence me, not the subject
matter nor even his visual style, much as I admire both.
Returning
to the rhetorical question that opened this essay, is Rhein II worth $4.3M? Of course it is: two reasons! Firstly the art market operates as any other
market does; value is determined by balancing scarcity with demand. Gursky is highly popular, but works at a
relatively slow pace, so demand is high yet few works enter the market; values
subsequently rise. This is, however, a
facile answer to the question posed. Of
far more importance is the fact that Gursky’s work bridges the gap between
photography and the historically accepted view of what constitutes fine
art. His photographs present unique
views of our modern world using the visual language of painting but drawing
upon the unique ability of a photograph to capture detail. They are no less
complex and take no less time to complete, than masterpieces of oil or
watercolour. Each is a unique and
special object.
Perhaps a
better question to pose would be: “Is
Rhein II a photograph?”
Shaun
Clarke, 2012
Referenced Works
Benjamin, W
(1934), The Work of Art in the Age of
Mechanical Reproduction, London: Penguin
Burnett, C.
(2005) Jeff Wall, London: Tate
Publishing
Galassi, P.
(2001) Andreas Gursky, New York: The
Museum of Modern Art
Gronert, S.
(2009) The Düsseldorf School of
Photography, London: Thames & Hudson
Hentschel,
M. (ed.) (2008) Andreas Gursky Works 80 –
08, Ostfildern: Hatje Cantz Verlag
Kennedy,
M.(2011) Andreas Gursky’s Rhine II photograph sells for $4.3M, The Guardian, 11 Nov
Krüger, M.
(2003) Candida Höfer A Monograph,
London: Thames & Hudson
Kruszynski,
A., Bezzola, T. and Lingwood, J. (2010) Thomas
Struth Photographs 1978-2010, New York: The Monacelli Press
Ruff, T.
(2012) ‘Thomas Ruff’ exhibition, Munich:
Haus der Kunst. 17 Feb – 20 May
Schmidt-Garre,
J. (2011) Long Shot Close Up – Andreas
Gursky, Germany: Art Haus Musik (DVD)
Scott, G
(2011) Has the Düsseldorf School killed
photography?, Professional Photographer, Jan
Waters, F.
(2011) Why is Andreas Gursky’s Rhine II the most expensive photograph?, The Telegraph, 11 Nov
Bibliography
Beil, R.
and Feβel, S. (2008) Andreas Gursky Architecture, Ostfildern:
Hatje Cantz Verlag
Darchinger,
J. (2008) Wirtsschaftswunder Deutschland
nach dem Krieg 1952-1967, Cologne: Taschen
Hughes, R.(1991),
The Shock of the New, London: Thames
& Hudson
Lange, S.
(2005), Bernd and Hilla Becher Life and
Work, Cambridge, USA: The MIT Press
Rugoff, R.
(1999) World Perfect: Andreas Gursky, Frieze
Magazine, 43, Nov-Dec
The
Economist (2009), Bedfellows: Two artists who understand the beauty of
business, 20 Sep
