Andrew Catlin – Sinéad

three rolls of film.

 

The immigration official stared at me with a cold, dumb, baleful expression. He had decided he wasn’t going to let me enter the US, but couldn’t quite articulate why. It wasn’t clear whether it was because he had decided I was a film crew and needed a permit, or because I’d travelled 50,000 miles in the last month and looked like death, or because he just didn’t like the cut of my jib. Whatever; I was stuck at an immigration desk at Vancouver airport, trying to get on a flight to LA where my ticket back to the UK was waiting, having already left Canada. I was due in California the next day to photograph Sinéad O’Connor.

Calls to consulates, lawyers, editors, friends and anyone else I could think of got nowhere. In the end it was at the final whim of the man on the desk with the monosyllabic vocabulary, and he really didn’t give a shit who called. It was my right to appeal if I so wished – and was willing to wait for 8 months. After a few hours in no mans land getting nowhere, I had to buy a $3000 one-way flight back to London and get some sleep.

Quite a lot of sleep, actually.

A couple of weeks later the phone rang, and a woman from the press office at Sinéad’s record company wanted to know if I could photograph Sinéad in London next Thursday as she would be back in England. I said I’d be happy to.

Then thing’s got a little surreal…

“Sinéad wants to know if you would mind doing the pictures at her flat?”

“Yes”, I said, “that would be fine.”

“Great. Can you be there at 2 o’clock?”

“OK, what’s the address?”

“….I can’t give out an artist’s address!”

“Um…. OK what do you suggest?”

There was a long pause, followed by “I’m going to have to call you back…” A couple of hours later she called back.

“OK, we’re going to send a car to collect you and take you there.”

Duh.

“What’s your address for me to send the car to.”

“4 Northwick House….. Maida Vale….. London NW8 8RD.”

“WHO GAVE YOU THAT ADDRESS??????”

“Eh?”

“WHO GAVE YOU THAT ADDRESS??????” “

…It’s my address!”

“No, the address you just gave me. Sinéad’s address!”

“That’s my address.”

“No, it’s Sinéad’s. WHO THE FUCK GAVE IT TO YOU???”

The conversation continued more or less through the same cycle for two or three more repeats, before it gradually became clear that Sinéad had just moved into one of the upstairs flats in the same building. This threw the press woman into a state of complete does-not-compute confusion and panic. She couldn’t work out how this could have happened or how to deal with it. Eventually I said “Why don’t you just ask Sinéad if she’d like to come down for a cup of tea on Thursday, and I can photograph her here and make it easy for her?”. Which was what happened.

I hadn’t met Sinéad before. Her face was lively and expressive, completely captivating, with an indefinable air that encompassed innocence, experience, intensity and something feral. We drank a cup of tea and talked for a while in the kitchen, and then moved to the bedroom where there was a huge bay window with perfect daylight. I had set up a backdrop and we sat either side of the table – a two inch thick slab of bullet-proof glass on trestles. I gradually shot four rolls of 120 film – 48 frames – with my Rolleiflex while we continued our conversation. It’s a gentle camera that is almost silent. It has an easy presence and doesn’t intimidate the sitter in the way many cameras do. It was perfect for the light, the moment, and the mood.

When I processed the film, I was struck by the energy and atmosphere in every picture. Each was dramatically different, and showed the openness that is the ideal for a portrait. I have returned to the contact sheets many times over many years, and continue to be fascinated by every frame. The National Portrait Gallery bought two of the pictures for their collection shortly after the shoot; highly unusual for such a young subject – Sinéad was around 22 at the time and they usually won’t acquire a picture unless it is of someone who has had a long and significant career.

My printer, Danny Pope, has spent a great deal of time over several years working with this set of pictures, and he too continues to be fascinated by them. After working on some very large prints, he suggested that the full set of pictures in sequence would make a great book – both as an insight into Sinéad at the start of her journey, and as an insight into photography; a way of seeing. A narrative of how a simple portrait can unfold and fold in on itself as you work through a progression of unique moments.

After some protracted discussions, arguments and relocations, the negatives were once again brought out and Danny prepared a careful set of high resolution scans for print. Reviewing the proofs has been both surprising and illuminating. Putting them into this format for the first time has given a whole new perspective on the pictures.

AC

Cartier-Bresson wrote:

“What is there more fugitive and transitory than the expression on a human face? The first impression given by a particular face is often the right one; but the photographer should try always to substantiate the first impression by “living” with the person concerned. The decisive moment and psychology, no less than the camera position, are the principle factors in the making of a good portrait.”

Thomas Carlyle noted that he

”…found a portrait superior in real instruction to half a dozen written biographies…

” I have found that the portrait was a small lighted candle, by which the biographies could for the first time be read.”  Thomas Carlyle.

” I have found that the portrait was a small lighted candle, by which the biographies could for the first time be read.”  Thomas Carlyle.

My words are long, and they always will be… perhaps appearing to be talking to just one ear… and even these few paragraphs give birth to many more stories I have, if only this was truly conversational…and I am placing here alongside mine even longer words, by another story teller and mentor to my eye for colour. And here to be read and heard – important words – Within the womb of it all is the message, and what cradles that womb is always ‘a story’.

After twenty years or so after seeing the print of Sinead hanging in his home, I printed the image I had always wanted to print, and if it had not been for his revolutionary adaptation of a tumble dryer or a washing machine… I remember not which.. to dry his film perfectly  – without any drying stain or dried in dust –  adorned within solemn yet perfectly beautiful concrete frames.. the stories over tea and toast, the unique and serene energy of Northwick house, polaroids and eclectic furniture adapted to house film and prints and cameras..his long friendship..and obstinate desire for the protection of his film and the image that is within it… the files in this form would never have been created, and in my view the perfect edition that digital enables.. but that is another volatile and important story.

For in his words, which I reread recently…within the story, words and reflections and use of quotes embodied everything that I was in my mind and service, leaving me understanding with a tranquil affirmation all the words images and reflections.. even my stubborn resolve to protect the grain of film within scanning which in turn resolutely protected the choice of light before that grain grew. Simply put, living and breathing that lovely analogue world of being a printer in the photographic business.

And of course, owing it all to ‘that print’ and most pertinently to the author of that print, and illustrating that complexity of that never ending story I have engaged within.. he always signed the image and never the unexposed or un-inked paper of the print.

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connection-light and film-the portrait

Without any fear of feeling repetitive, this succinct passage eloquently translates that the portrait is born at that very moment. The serene synergy of the eye, choice of film, light and most importantly the connection between the author and the sitter, gives birth to that very particular alchemy of it nestling within the grain of the film. No technique is required to bring it all to light. It’s all there waiting to be printed with complete dedication to that very special connection to its author. That takes time, unlike the moment of time it is captured.

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I hadn’t met Sinéad before. Her face was lively and expressive, completely captivating, with an indefinable air that encompassed innocence, experience, intensity and something feral. We drank a cup of tea and talked for a while in the kitchen, and then moved to the bedroom where there was a huge bay window with perfect daylight. I had set up a backdrop and we sat either side of the table – a two inch thick slab of bullet-proof glass on trestles. I gradually shot four rolls of 120 film – 48 frames – with my Rolleiflex while we continued our conversation. It’s a gentle camera that is almost silent. It has an easy presence and doesn’t intimidate the sitter in the way many cameras do. It was perfect for the light, the moment, and the mood.

When I processed the film, I was struck by the energy and atmosphere in every picture. Each was dramatically different, and showed the openness that is the ideal for a portrait. I have returned to the contact sheets many times over many years, and continue to be fascinated by every frame. The National Portrait Gallery bought two of the pictures for their collection shortly after the shoot; highly unusual for such a young subject – Sinéad was around 22 at the time and they usually won’t acquire a picture unless it is of someone who has had a long and significant career.

While a good portrait can describe eloquently what the photographer saw in the person they photographed at that moment, it can also transmit a deeper level of understanding. Indeed you can also continue to learn from it for many years. You can revisit it, study it, reposition it in the context of a wider story. A portrait, in particular one shot on film, has a permanent connection to a precise moment in time. It can provide a window of clarity on a period that may have been coloured by years of subsequent history, editing and fiction.

AC

“What is there more fugitive and transitory than the expression on a human face? The first impression given by a particular face is often the right one; but the photographer should try always to substantiate the first impression by “living” with the person concerned. The decisive moment and psychology, no less than the camera position, are the principle factors in the making of a good portrait.”

Cartier-Bresson

Thomas Carlyle noted that he ”…found a portrait superior in real instruction to half a dozen written biographies…I have found that the portrait was a small lighted candle, by which the biographies could for the first time be read.”

Sinéad O’Connor by Andrew Catlin

what is analogue

nick kamen by mark lebon

I was asked just yesterday… what actually is ‘analogue’..

I was one of the first to print from ‘polapan’. A film so delicate, so extraordinary at that point in time.. an instant 35mm transparency in black and white and colour, developed in a little black plastic clockwork type of thing with a little handle, that had to be turned at just the right constant speed.. laboratory.. half the size of a toaster.  Photographers and their assistants would come to me with their precious rolls.. I guess because they thought vas I had a giant expensive cibachrome processing machine I was an expert.. making it up as I went along as I just turned the handle carefully and made out it was a really really precise procedure… then hopefully they would order some prints.

As the prints were vital, the diligent photographers, or most pertinently their assistants would preserve their fragility in ‘glass’ 35mm mounts on my lightbox.. always aware that in reproduction these ‘peculiar and alien’ transparencies would invariably get scratched, or their lenticular-esque cyan hue that accompanied these little moments in time retained and perhaps should be preserved in print form. Hence, the hand printer then had the task of delicately removing the film from the 35mm glass holder, in a way that an archaeologist handled the dead sea scrolls or the turin shroud. And creating the print that was couriered to the invisible reproduction posse from the little anonymous cave of the photographic printer… with or without that delicate cyan hue.  Heralding a time when the art directors of that era, started accepting ‘colour’ prints for reproduction as well as transparencies.. about a decade before C41 exploded on the fashion scene and colour prints became the norm for reproduction.

Yet, of course… that unknown alchemical process of handle turned machines, and that instant transparency with that delicacy of a butterfly wing… sometimes produced something quite unanticipated, even quite extraordinary…. the very first or last frame embodied with  that very particular polaroid roller mark, impossible to replicate.. and it too was carefully fossilised in those glass mounts, and then subsequently preserved in the cibachrome print.

Just half a decade later, feeling like a magician, I took the whole minute processing laboratory with a huge amount of this precious film, happily donated by the echelons of polaroid to an underwater archaeological expedition in Greece that I was part of, my true passion and desired vocation of that time. To be able to process and see the underwater grids and treasure under the sea, and even make polaroid prints with another clockwork machine of images just taken underwater, was a mind blowing technological feat of that time… as quaint as that may seem now. And in that time that diver disentangled from all the equipment and dried off, the film had been processed, cut and mounted, and was then ‘present and relating’ on the boat to what had been discovered and shown to all as the images appeared.

As always, with my many tangents I think of my boyhood romantic vision of canisters of film being smuggled across borders up donkeys bums to Fleet Street…The romance of photography, stealing the moment, encasing it in a roll of film, the person who develops the film with their heart in their mouths until they see that it has been processed correctly, to the photographer scrutinising the contact sheet or transparency over a light box with their hearts in their mouths for composition and focus, to the printer with their hearts in their mouths to be able to portray the density and balance of the print, to the front page to be seen for a day and then revisited twenty years later….In prints and books… that precious film and their custodians.

All amalgamating to the more romantic definition of analogue.. in my mind.. and what we all appear to be wittering on about… and why we believe in the treasured archive of film or prints to be so very very important. And reminding me of Egyptian mythology where there is the boatman for the Pharaoh.. who takes him to the next world for that very important journey.

The journey of the image to film… its capture the subsequent journey of the processing of the film and the negative or transparency to print and its preservation… is a journey… the journey of analogue photography.

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at a hundred percent

photograph Tim Page

As I work on one of Tim’s files at a hundred percent.. the only size proficient enough to carefully heal the grain and to restore the ‘damage of time’ of the dust and marks to the now ‘ancient’ film. And only by doing so…  to maintain the image captured.. by restoring the ‘film’.. not the ‘image’.

I always create the file large to maintain 600dpi to print at one and half meters by three, or for reproduction to whatever size required.

And I find myself again in front of the ‘last supper’, or beneath the Sistine chapel, yet this image is the documentary photograph… that perfectly composed image, taken in that split second of perfectly composed ‘story telling’ time. And as my eye wanders over the grain that I am restoring.. I see all the stories within that story. Felt yet not noticed by the documentary photographer.

The world of photography was taken on the technological wave of digital that in all forms had swept through the world, an event of liberating cosmic disturbance, as it was a technology that was capable of unveiling infinite quantities of information. And whilst I worked on the files today I thought about all the giant prints of nothing, that flooded the galleries in the nineties, when art was ‘born’ in photography, and where ‘size’ meant everything in those voluminous galleries all over the world.

And then I thought about the hand print, and how finite it always was, yet at the same time holding that enigmatic moment in time, that innate feel and emotion of composition, the eye of the photographer, and they are as beautiful now as they were then. And as my mind wandered back to the stories I was seeing within the image at a hundred percent, details that I could print at the same resolution at any size I wished, I thought how digital allows one to get all the information from a 35 mm piece of film, and print at any size we wish, at whatever dpi we desire and something that digitally captured images will not allow us to do as yet..

And I thought how truly beautiful giant prints from film are.. from within the Sistine chapel of documentary photography.

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a language older than words

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Photography can have the magical ability to capture and preserve an emotion or a strong feeling.. and sometimes it’s an unknown feeling or emotion at that time.  And the image that is captured can then radiate what was that unknown feeling of respect and quiet that the photographer had had, almost as if there is something that is guiding the photographers mind and eyes subconsciously… An unknown story to be told or later revealed to them.

And that is sometimes the power of photography, illustrating that at times there is a common feeling of having glimpsed something beautiful, and yet not captured it.. as so successful has been the camera’s role in beautifying the world that photographs rather than the world have become the standard of beautiful… yet photography in being the ‘ethics of seeing’ teaches us a visual code. Even if unknown at the time of capturing it, as there can be as strong a feeling of reverence akin to that a cathedral or mosque may have… even within landscape photography. As in this image, of what was once an aboriginal women’s birthing place, and a sacred place for women.

And photography not only records the present, but also the unknown past, even when bereft of people and their mark.  And in doing so, can then become a fountain of knowledge and understanding, leaving us with a personal judgement to enter places with a certain reverence and respect.

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the print

image – Andrew Catlin

‘I will not be just a tourist in the world of images, just watching images passing by which I cannot live in, make love to, possess as permanent sources of joy and ecstasy.’

Anais Nin.

ink on hahnemuhle paper 2005

captured on film

the operation of grace

wiska – danny pope

just the place to bury a crock of gold

I should like to bury something precious in every place I have been happy

and then when I am old and ugly and miserable

come back and dig it up 

and remember

Evelyn Waugh

Berlin balcony

matrix – Andrew Catlin

The picture was shot in Kreuzberg in Berlin.

The Appartment block was being renovated by developers, but one old lady insisted on staying in her home. The whole building was covered in plastic, but it meant they had to leave her balcony uncovered.

The balcony became like a stage draped with huge curtains.

Each day they would grind away at the building, covering her balcony with dirt, and each day she would sweep it clean with her orange gloves on.

Her movements show quiet resilience, determination and dignity.

People who see the picture spend a long time looking at it. A lot of them say that it reminds them of their own grandmother.

Usually they smile; occasionally they cry.

Perhaps this describes something of a quality that many old people have. They know they will die all too soon, and that they have nothing left to prove and little left to lose. It gives them a certain courage and grace and sadness, and a satisfaction in small things.

AC September 2016

” The greatest thing a human soul ever does in this world is to see something and tell what he saw in a plain way. Hundreds of people can talk for one who can think, but thousands can think for one who can see. To see clearly is poetry, prophecy, and religion all as one”

John Ruskin.

an image revisited, from words of today after an inquiry for the provenance and story of the mono print that was bought for a collection.

the words illustrate that photography, documentary photography is never a matter of chance nor design.

the matrix editions, were and are hugely important. Andrew is the most important photographer of the eighties. His love, respect and understanding of all people, his desire to share his perception of them through portraiture has left us with some of the most gentle and powerful images through the photographic medium.

yet what the matrix show, and all of his work, is that portraiture is of the moment with the wisest of eyes.

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linda

image – Linda McCartney

I was recommended to Linda McCartney by Eve Arnold and with Pete Trew a black and white printer, a highly talented and gifted man who I introduced to Linda started working on her archive at the time her 60’s show started to ‘become’. It was all word of mouth, perhaps a simpler time where printed images flowed through London’s photographic veins.

Myself and Pete started working on the exhibition that was to launch her forthcoming book ‘Sixties’. All of her colour work was on 35mm and 2 1/4 transparency, and all the prints I made were cibachromes.

When I went to see her the first time, she was crossed legged on the rug in her and Paul’s apartment in Soho, with a tooth brush in one hand, a small bowl of warm salty water before her, with a filthy, forlorn pigeon with an injured foot held delicately in the other. She was full of love for everything that walked the planet, which fuelled her passion for photography.

I loved working with her as her colour printer, she was always kind and full of life, passionate about her photography and creativity, and loved the perfection of the hand print. Never tiring of exploring the creation of prints from sun prints to analogue, 35mm to 10 x 8..and explored every medium at her disposal from immersing herself in ancient books and her connections. She always carried a camera, and her book was the window to her world through the sixties, intimate images of family and friends, and all the humour she saw and felt all her life.

Her photography spoke volumes of her passion for her family, animals, friends and the world. The fact that she was privileged within the world of the sixties does nothing to belittle her ability as a great documentary photographer and artist.

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JFK

image – Tim Page

“If art is to nourish the roots of our culture, society must set the artist free to follow his vision wherever it takes him. We must never forget that art is not a form of propaganda; it is a form of truth…”

-jfk