Leica M Magazine No. 5

T he M a g a z ine f or L e ic a M p ho t o gr a p h y

No. 5

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14 ¤ · 16 US$ · 25 CHF · 2000 ¥ · 12 £ 0 2 . 2 016 / e n g l i s h

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This issue featuring:

Cl au d i ne Do ury José Colón Fred M ortag n e Pet er Bau za Gi ova n n i d el B ren n a E rn esto B a z a n Essay: 10 years of digital M – from the Leica M8 to the Leica M10

LEICA. DAS WESENTLICHE.

LEICA M À LA CARTE Create your own, uniquely personal M-Camera.

Leica M Ă la carte makes it possible to redesign the versatile Leica M or the unique Leica M Monochrom the way you always wished it could be: Choose from a selection of premium leathering options, engravings and a multitude of variable elements and functional details to create your own, truly personal style icon.

Your M-Camera will then be custom-built to your precise specifications at our manufacture in Germany with painstaking attention to every detail and the most stringent quality assurance. Discover the wide range of options at leica-a-la-carte.com.

LEICA M-SYSTEM. See the bigger picture.

de a r r e a der , We are delighted to join you in taking a look at this new issue of the M Magazine – the magazine dedicated to the Leica M system, which, with all its older, middle and newer lenses (you will be surprised to see what the near future has in store!) affords us the great opportunity of taking photographs with a rangefinder camera! I look all around me, wait patiently to see what develops, and then capture the moment forever!

Sometimes I take the picture straight away because, for those with expertise, it’s obvious what needs to be done so as to be able to shoot even faster than a camera with auto-focus does.

As I said in my foreword for the previous issue, “This magazine challenges its readers to shoot the pictures they want to shoot. This magazine says, look at the photographs in this issue and let them inspire you – and then go out and find your own unique style!”

And in this issue you will once again find plenty of motivation: whether you, dear reader, photograph with the M Monochrom, the M9, the M240 or the M6 (at the recent inauguration of the Leica Store in Istanbul on October 5, I even saw a photog­rapher with a Leica IIIg!), you will find a broad pano­rama of the possibilities that the M system has to offer photographers.

We hope you will take pleasure in all that this issue No. 5 of the M Magazine has to offer, and that will continue to take pleasure in your own M system!

Good Light!

Andreas Kaufmann

content

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10 Years of Digital M E s s ay

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Viva la Virgen!

The Flip Side of the Coin

José Colón

Peter Bauza

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Summertime in Crimea

Cuba, mon Amour

Cl a u d i n e D o u r y

Ernesto Bazan

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Modern Lines

Assumptions

F r ed Mor tagne

Giova nni del Br enn a

174 Photographers

C o v e r p h o t o : Cl a u d i n e D o u r y, f r o m : A r t e k , u n é t é e n C r i m é e

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10 Years of Digital M Or, to put it differently – 62 years of the M system!

Its digitisation has enabled Leica’s rangefinder camera to remain what it has always been: a tool that combines precision and simplicity in an unparalleled manner.

The M has shaped photography culture like no other niche product. In the tenth year of the digital M, Leica are releasing the M10 – affirming that the classic rangefinder concept transcends fashion.

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Essay

As the name implies, the M Magazine is dedicated to photographs taken with Leica’s rangefinder system. These can include the works of classic masters, though the magazine predominantly features the achievements of contemporary photographers, created in more recent times. Among them are reportages and ambitious long-term projects, strictly conceptual artistic works and street photography, humorous and serious visual interpretations of the world that surrounds us. In other words, the magazine is a vibrant presentation of the many individual approaches to working with the most ­tradition-steeped of all camera systems.

Most probably, the M Magazine and the content within its pages would not even exist today, had Leica not released the M8 in 2006. Indeed, the M system itself would almost certainly have disappeared from the market, apart from as a niche second-hand product.

control. In light of these challenges, the development of the M8 was a taxing process marked by enormous creativity and the necessity to make a number of compromises in order to create a camera that stayed true to the traditions of rangefinder photography, while at the same time generating a digital image.

The results were well-received on the market. Photographers took great store in the fact that working with the M had, in essence, remained as it had always been – signifying not traditionalism, but timelessness. What mattered was not a commitment to analogue photography, but to the rangefinder principle itself, along with the ­characteristics of the photographic practice it had given rise to. And how tragic would it have been, had the question of the recording medium determined the fate of this unique camera system.

THE DIGITISATION of the Leica rangefinder camera was a process fraught with many challenges, but one that was quickly followed by a remarkable success story. It was an outstanding accomplishment to extricate the M from its confinement to film – a recording medium which, however highly-developed, was clearly destined to be replaced in the fairly imminent future. What made this achievement all the more extraordinary was the fact that digitisation was very much outside of Leica’s usual core competences.

After all, it was not the classic camera manufacturers, but the major electronics corporations that were setting the pace for the industry’s digital innovation. The rapid technological advancements in the field of generating electronic images led to equally rapid changes to the ways in which photography was being used. This, in turn, vastly altered the methods of reproduction, post-processing and presentation of the photographic image. As a consequence, offering customers solutions that were exclusively filmbased had quite suddenly become the equivalent of commercial suicide. Yet this was precisely what the body of the Leica M had originallybeen made for: Oskar Barnack’s concept of a small, simple camera for your coat pocket had been refined into a camera whose internally complex rangefinder was complemented by the definition of sparseness. It was constructed specifically for the purpose of accommodating one roll of film, and nothing else besides.

While this extreme reduction to the most essential functions made the Leica M a masterpiece of design, it posed a significant problem when it came to adding ­further functions. This was already evident in the analogue M6, whose integrated exposure meter only became pos­ sible once the miniaturisation of electronics was sufficiently advanced – again something that was outside of Leica’s

THE LEICA M has been considered an unobtrusive ­camera since the very beginning. Photographers appreciated being able to anticipate the development of a scene through the viewfinder window – enabling them to release the shutter at the exact moment when the configuration of their subjects inside the bright-frame constituted an outstanding image. They appreciated the way in which high-precision optics and mechanics manifested themselves in a spartan device, which humbly stands between the photographer’s intuitive experience and the events before him – fostering a visual style which brings to mind attributes such as ‘truthful’, ‘dynamic’ and ‘alive’.

This essentially made the M the symbolic antithesis of the general mass market camera, which continuously (and mostly successfully) enticed customers with yet more technological upgrades and still more functions.

Most crucially, each new camera generation thrown onto the market in ever shorter product cycles promised ­photographers the ability to take even better pictures.

In reality, this pledge contained very little substance – as anyone who is familiar with the photographs that have shaped the medium throughout the past 100 years will undoubtedly know. However, the marginalisation of the M system started a mere decade after the introduction of the M3 in 1954. Reflex cameras, recording in the 35mm format which the Leica had made popular in the first place, were perceived as far more versatile and convenient – increasingly pushing the rangefinder principle into the background. As a result, the M series was already in danger of being discontinued back in the 1970s. So it is not without irony that the 35mm single lens reflex camera that has dominated the market for so long is increasingly considered outmoded, all its sophistication notwithstanding, while Leica were able to celebrate the •

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Essay

focus. The M 240 was a distinctive expression of this strategy. It embodied everything that defines M photography, but also offered the option to completely ignore the rangefinder thanks to Live View, work with R lenses and even shoot videos. As a direct result, the M system once again became viable for those pursuing (reportage) photography on a professional level. In other words, people who did not want to be weighed down by a big beast of a camera and valued the interaction with their subject – but who also required a digital workflow that was befitting of the times. Some M fans, however, found that even the M240 was too cumbersome, and Leica began to sense that there was a danger of watering down a part of the M system’s brand essence. After all, its successful digital transformation had proven that the rangefinder emanates a timeless fascination – and there can hardly be a better position than to have a unique selling point, which only needs to be maintained with a measure of consistency.

60th birthday of the M in 2014. And what is more, this anni­ versary was not a nostalgic homage to an anachronism that has managed to endure, but the celebration of a true success story. This is compiled from several chapters.

Regardless of the M system’s intermittent marginalisation, what matters is not so much the device itself, but the ­cultural practice it initiates – which subsequently either does or does not develop a sustained, far-reaching impact.

In the same way that Oskar Barnack’s invention revolutionised our way of seeing based on a combination of technical means and zeitgeist, the M gave rise to a specific visual style, with which it will always be associated. You can call it the art of capturing the instant decisif, or you may call it street photography; although its heyday was in the 50s and 60s, it has brought about such an abundance of iconic, history-shaping material, that in our emotive perception, camera and image have long culminated into one entity. For this reason, Leica’s M series kept its fan base even during its darkest hour. Of course, this would never have been the case had it not offered qualities that set it apart as the best opto-mechanical instrument in its field. Added to this is a potential for a continuous reinterpretation of the purpose an M was intended to serve.

There are, for example, other camera concepts today that are better suited to fulfilling the role of the small, light-weight, inconspicuous camera.

And even as far back as in the 1980s, it was no longer credible to cite fast reportages as the primary domain of the M. Instead, it was now considered a tool for creating measured, carefully thought-out compositions – ideal for those who appreciate the finest mechanics and the ability to control the entire process at all times. The strategy of emphasising the performance of the system’s lenses, established in the 1990s, complemented this development.

Of course, lens performance has always been a significant characteristic of all Leica photography since Max Berek, but aspheric technology brought about a major paradigm shift. After all, someone like Cartier-Bresson would have had little interest in what performance a 35mm Summilux could offer at maximum aperture, considering that his style of photography was largely based on his preferred hyperfocal method. Now, however, it was all about proving that it was possible to create compact, extremely light-sensitive lenses that follow the pre-dictated design of the M whilst offering unparalleled optical performance.

THE ANNIVERSARY YEAR of the digital M will therefore be marked with the introduction of a model that represents a very clear statement. The name M10 affirms that this is a direct continuation of the series that began in 1954 with the M3. Consequently, it also features the classic body dimensions of the analogue M, made possible by modifying the wiring of the sensor and the main board.

There is even a thumb wheel that is just like the film rewind knob of the MP, which on the M10 serves as the ISO settings wheel. As a concession to those in favour of the ‘faster-higher-further’ philosophy, the settings can be pushed up to ISO 50 000; the base sensitivity offered by the newly-developed sensor is ISO 100. The magnification of the rangefinder is 0.73. Overall, the entire interface of the M10 is specifically geared towards taking attention away from the camera’s digital functions, with the number of buttons having been reduced to a perhaps unparalleled minimum. In Leica’s view, the M10 is not only the best digital M, but indeed the best M altogether.

In any case, the Leica M10 is a camera in which the rangefinder principle and the traditional virtues of ­distraction-free, intuitive hand-eye coordination have once again returned to their true core.

THE RANGEFINDER PRINCIPLE temporarily almost receded into the background during this process, with the M becoming more of a facilitator for high-performance lenses – some of them with unique compositional capabilities, all of them compact and, of course, with manual

Leica M

Olaf Stefanus is an editor at LFI and has been commentating on the M system and its history for several years.

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Jo sé C ol ón

Viva la Virgen!

They come on horseback, in beautifully decorated carriages, in simple donkey carts, or on foot: over one hundred brotherhoods set out just before Whitsun for the village of El Rocío, to pay tribute to the Holy Virgin. With over a million participants, this pilgrim­age is the largest in Spain, as well as one enormous party. Spanish photographer José Colón presents images of a typical tradition from his homeland, Andalusia.

Photographed with a Leica M9

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Wearing traditional outfits, pilgrims flood to El Rocío. The church is home to the reason for their journey: the statue of Mary

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Around Whitsun, the dusty, unpaved roads of the village turn into a gigantic festival ground. Masses of people make their way past carriages and carts – cars are forbidden during the festivities

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On the Saturday before Whitsun, a group of pilgrims wait in front of the Ermita del Rocío church to catch a glimpse of the statue of Mary

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The festivities only begin officially once the Almonte Brotherhood has visited the sanctuary.

Uncon­cerned about that stipulation, this group of pilgrims is dancing its way towards El Rocío, with 30 kilometres still to go

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This group of pilgrims already reached El RocĂ­o on Wednesday.

The main festivities do not begin until Whit Sunday

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Whit Sunday night in El RocĂ­o: all over the village, the faithful gather to recite the rosary together

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Whit Sunday, 11pm: a boy sleeps during prayers. The highpoint is reached around 3am with the abduction of Mary

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José Colón

Every year, a small village in the western part of Andalusia, southern Spain, opens its gates to the Romería, a religious pilgrimage in honour of the Virgen del Rocío. It is an explosion of religious fervour and popular revelry in equal parts: Masses, supplications, prayers, rosaries, faith, promises, petitions… song, dance, alcohol, free flowing food and a lack of moderation.

The many legends surrounding the origins of the cult to the Virgen del Rocío are both diverse and contradictory.

One thing that the different versions do share in common is the understanding that a hunter or a priest found a statue of Mary by a tree in the southern marshland area.

In 1653, she was made patron of the village of Almonte in the province of Huelva. After that, the devotional and festive impulse increased exponentially till, for the past twenty years or so, the number of participants in the Romería was officially rounded off at about one million people. Nowadays, the statue that gave rise to this, the largest pilgrimage to take place every year in Spain, is kept in the village of El Rocío, located fifteen kilometres away from Almonte.

The village of El Rocío keeps its streets unpaved and gives priority to horses, mules and animal-driven vehicles.

What is more, overcome by the sheer number of participants, the town hall has decided in recent years to close off any access to cars. Only those with a special permit can enter the village during the Romería. At the same time, and to the disgust of many, the local authorities have transformed its dusty streets into an immense market place, where, in addition to a variety of souvenirs related to the Virgin, you can buy clumsy imitations of designer underwear, African figurines carved in ebony – or similar –, football equipment or any other imaginable trinket as well. The economic shadow of the village patron grows in length and helps fill the municipal coffers.

and in advance of all the other brotherhoods. They then all participate together in the rosary and the Sunday Mass.

The Virgin, who according to local beliefs can do anything, breaks to some degree with the established order, when, at the zenith of the celebration, she is spirited away by the villagers in a peculiar and disconcerting procession.

Hundreds of men from Almonte – women rarely ­participate – congregate during the last hours on Sunday of Pentecost, next to the railings of the sanctuary’s presbytery. The mood is both joyous and tense. According to tradition, the first rays of light on Monday signal the beginning of the procession: the frayed nerves of an evergrowing crowd, however, have gradually brought the moment of the appearance of the statue forward. Around three o’clock in the morning, bathed in sweat and with no protocol other than their strength, men perform the salto de la reja ( jump off the railing) and, literally, take possession of the Virgin in such a violent manner that it would freeze the blood of any unprepared newcomer. The statue often ends up on the floor and has to be raised up again amid the complaints of those who failed to keep it up in the first place and the feverish shouts of thousands of participants. For the author of this piece, this is the emotional highlight of the pilgrimage.

The struggles to get beneath the platform are constant, and often end in fist fights between those from Almonte and youngsters from outside the village. Blasphemies are heard amid background shouts of, “Long live the Virgen del Rocío! Long live the White Dove! Long live the Queen of the Marshlands! Long live the Mother of God!” Standing beneath a canopy, the statue is carried on men’s shoulders for about ten hours – there is no fixed time for its return to the sanctuary –, visiting the hundred or so brotherhoods affiliated to the Brotherhood of Matriz de Almonte. In turn, parishioners carry the one hundred or more priests accompanying these congregations on their shoulders. The ministers recite the Hail Mary with great emotion, as the procession struggles to make its way forward amid the sound of church bells, and the claps, shouts and prayers of the faithful. It is popular piety in its purist form. For most down-to-earth Christians it may be an unnecessary excess, but without it there simply would not be a pilgrimage to honour the Virgen del Rocío.

In the days leading up to Whitsun , when the pilgrimage takes place, over one hundred brotherhoods set forth on the road to the village of El Rocío, each carrying a banner bearing an image of the Virgin. Some leave their town on foot, on horseback, in carriages or four wheel drives, and it can take them up to a week to reach the feet of the Virgin, popularly known as the Blanca Paloma (White Dove) or Queen of the Marshlands. ‘Hacer el camino’ (to travel the path) implies preparing yourself for the pilgrimage, to draw close to the Virgin: as the years have gone by, however, the pilgrimage itself has become part of the festivities.

However, it does not officially begin until the pilgrims of Almonte arrive at the church of El Rocío, presenting themselves to the Virgin between Friday and Saturday,

Leica M

Luis de Vega (*1971) studied journalism in Salamanca and works as an editor and photo journalist.

His book El Rocío appeared in 2003.

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Cl a udine Dour y

Summertime in Crimea Founded in 1925 as a recreational camp for children, Artek on the Crimean Peninsula was recon­structed during the Khrushchev era and, with its innovative architectural imagery, became a object of prestige for the CPSU’s General Secretary. To spend the ­summer there was the dream of many youngsters in the Soviet Union. Nowadays, the pioneer camp is experiencing a revival. Claudine Doury travelled to a hideaway of nostalgia.

Photographed with a Leica M6

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Timid glances that are witness to a fear of an intangible dimension of life. Adolescence, that fragile time between child and adulthood, is the theme French photographer Claudine Doury deals with continuously

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Solitary card game and posing in front of an apparently uninterested public: as children mature to adults, the transitions are blurred. Doury’s picture compositions show the children as they gradually fall from their familiar world

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Longing eyes, thoughtful expressions and spectacular theatre costumes: escaping from the diffused twilight of puberty into unattainable worlds of thought and fantasy, is a pervasive aspect of Doury’s images

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Cl a u d i n e D o u r y

The first Artek camp created in Crimea, close to Yalta on the shores of the Black Sea, was inaugurated on June 16th 1925. Stalin wanted these ‘pioneer villages’ to be showcases for the ‘better world’ and the ‘new man’ promised by socialism. Young people of poor health were able to profit from the summer’s subtropical micro climate, and modern teaching methods mixing sports and studies, were offered to privileged youth all throughout the year. To be admitted or sent to Artek was considered a privilege. As of 1957, Nikita Khrushchev had the site transformed by constructing the modern concrete and glass buildings that still exist today; and, in an amusing paradox of history repeating itself, this is where Russia’s nouveau riche now send their children on holiday – a sumptuous gift – that they can thank the Communist Era for! Uniforms, sports and a celebration of the physical body – we rediscover the same old patterns that have now become the latest trend.

strong by flexing their muscles in front of the young girls they wish to seduce. Doubts regarding identity are there, perceived all the more because nothing is said, because, officially speaking, this is not the ‘subject’ of this journey into the images at the heart of Artek.

We find ourselves considering the grandparents of these young people, who do not resemble them but who were also there, and who must have had the same types of feelings, desires, concerns and wishes. It is because the photographer is not trying to prove anything, because she leaves the symbolic uniforms and the costumes disturbing the passage of time, that we are no longer sure as to where we find ourselves. Temporalities – that photography is incapable of telling us anything about – come together, creating worlds but without expecting us to situate them. What remains is a state, a moment of prime youth that photography was able to capture.

Claudine Doury has continued with this visual research of adolescence. She is far from being alone, because this ‘theme’, if that is what we can call it, has invaded the landscape of contemporary photography and other forms of visual arts. Anxiety in the face of the extension of life?

Anxiety in the face of an increasingly degraded world, which seems less and less prepared to welcome new generations? Idealistic nostalgia for a moment that we cannot quite define, between child and adulthood? Questioning the fact that the length of time we call child­hood seems to be getting shorter, to be replaced faster and faster by ­bodies, desires, and grown up practices? All this and, no doubt, other things, but the phenomena is as un­deniable as it is spectacular. These youngsters are the cousins, the little brothers, the young friends of the boys from Artek, who learned to dance for the country fête, maybe dreaming of becoming the sweethearts of the young girls of Artek, who confided their young girl secret among themselves, murmuring in each others ears, dreaming at siesta time about their great love or imagining the costumes to bring to the stage. It is photography that allows us to believe this, with images that make it possible; because, without our even noticing, Doury knows exactly how to choose and capture her light, her beautiful light free of effects, her mysterious light.

When ClaudinE Doury approaches this secluded area she does so discreetly, keeping a respectful distance: returning a number of times she is happy to simply record what she sees. On the one hand, a theatre of yesteryear – one we can imagine is not missed at all by the privileged youth who benefitted from it –, on the other, the adolescents of today. It is as a result of her various visits to Artek that we are able to put a date on her interest in adolescence, a theme she will develop, and which she still continues to explore. In Artek, she is no longer the photojournalist renowned for collaborating with the press. She is a photog­ rapher. She is not looking for objective documentation – though she knows that her photographs will become documents, that, in a certain way, they always will be just that, though it is not her main intention. She reacts to visual stimulations. The principal one is light: natural, soft, without effects, moulding clothes and muscles, vibrating on the skin and on the material the clothes are made from; a light that processes colour, again without effects or stridency, but composed to perfection, light which captures two beautifully coifed hairdos from behind, or the elegant drawing, the ephemeral tattoo, that one boy delicately draws on the shoulder of another. the slightly faded Blue of the walls serves as the backdrop for a decor from another era. It ends up being timeless, but suggests the idea of a theatre of artificial, unclassifiable youth. Everything is somewhat suspended.

Without really trying to explore or reveal anything, each image draws close to feelings of adolescence. From the questioning in the mirror and the ambiguity of gestures that allow a certain erotic tension to filter through, to the affirmation of young boys wanting to show that they are

Leica M

Christian Caujolle is co-founder of the VU’ Agency, and Artistic Director of numerous photo festivals, including the Rencontres d’Arles.

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f r e d mor ta gne

Modern Lines Fred Mortagne is well known within the skateboarder community. Recognising that the big city is the natural biotope for a skater, the French photographer has dedicated his series to this quintessential location. Mortagne, who is known on the scene simply as French Fred, has developed an incredible sense for the unusual perspectives and alignments found in urban spaces.

photographed with a Leica M Monochrom

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fred mortagne

­ attens. It’s this balance of expression and talent that fl draws our eyes and allows our mind to read the message, it’s a talent very few can recreate time and again. Which moves us back to goals… without commercial pressure the creator can flourish without boundaries or influence, and can open up a portal of self exploration that can border on the verge of self obsession. Extremely simple ideas are often the hardest to express, especially when you’re relying on the beauty and strength of chance encounters mixed with the obsessive lines of opportunity in the urban or natural landscape. The serious and professional self could get lost in the mundane zone of framing and structure, but the experience and time spent looking differently at architecture through the eyes of a skateboarder pay dividends in this realm.

As we speak, skateboarders are re-interpreting our most talented architects’ life work, paying attention to the lines, the shapes and the surface texture. Do many of you reading this ever look so deeply at the urban landscape in such a manner? Practically speaking we’ve thrived by taking advantage of those details, it’s affected our product, culture and ability to seed our way of life into society.

Skateboarders feel the city, watch the city and take advantage of the opportunities when they arise… sound familiar?

Throw a photo camera in that mix and you have the recipe for real life documentation through still images. A stolen moment seen through the eyes of a thief with open eyes and a creative thirst for expression.

The early light is a time for balance, the richness of morning life abounds with tone and stark hard contrast; devoid of shadow at its peak moment of clarity. The late light fires in a rush of highlight, a golden glimpse of dashing brightness with an almost magical climax. The daily movement of life through towns, cities and the outdoors brings forth newness and life to the dark grey architecture. The dormant objects lay in wait for light and life to bring them character or expression, while the watchful and patient artist paints his own picture through the visions of his mind and the abilities of his physical self to capture such imagery.

The final result to be shared with others, the momentary glimpse into another world, inspires the individual to expand his/hers own creative scope… the process to be repeated for all of time.

The mixture of hard concrete and skateboarding has always been an extremely original interaction, skateboarding having evolved from the coastlines of California to the streets of the urban western world – and is now a worldwide culture. Where else do we see expression dealt out so deadly and in a way that defies rules and barriers of creativity as it pertains to oneself? Stop it, you know nothing. The youthful and exuberant attack on architecture hits the nail between human and hand made objects right on the head. You have to have lived it to truly capture it, in this case it’s almost entirely the truth. A person having honed his skills capturing skateboard life on the streets, via the creative pattern of video, film and now digital photography, seldom excels and exceeds at all. It takes a lot of personal sacrifice to fulfill such high standards in multiple formats, but it can also depend on the approach and the artist’s initial goals. I like it when I hear that a photographer shoots mostly on the fly, it shows a constant and immediate need to document a fleeting moment never to be repeated again. The solemn mood of a man on his lunch break, or the flashing light bouncing off a skyscraper, both tell a different story but equally compelling and clear in message. “I’ve always been a supporter of film photog­raphy, but I admit shooting on digital made me learn and progress much faster,” Fred Mortagne says about his Leica M Monochrom.

The subject of shooting abstract skateboarding would naturally lend itself to other character opportunities whilst out in the field, the idea being one and the same with a transformation of character and personal expression moved from a single mode of transport, into a world of everyday life. The strength of lines, the classic geometric framing of the old mixed with the new is a timeless subject; relatable to many. Remove the character, and life subsides, remove the controlled or captured flash of light, and the magic

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But it takes a very special person to seed out the intricacies of every day life and translate it into still images with emotion, intent and a compelling point of view. Progressing abstract photography can be tough, but it’s the subject matter, the moving part of the frame that brings the image to life and is at the center of the viewer’s attention. This piece of the puzzle is the key to Mortagne’s timeless and yet completely current point of view. The influence, the format and the time period all stop and become frozen when the artist has given us his final vision. The photographer then moves onto his next creation, sometimes satisfied with his prior work, sometimes holding onto a minute detail of dissatisfaction that eats away at his very self.

Geoff Rowley is professional skateboarder. He wrote an essay for Mortagne’s book ‘Attraper au Vol’ (Catch in Flight) which was recently published by Um Yeah Books.

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Peter Bauza

The Flip Side of the Coin One city, two worlds: in recent times, Brazil has hosted a couple of major sports events, amongst them the Football World Cup and the Olympic Games.

While joyous victors celebrated their medals in Rio de Janeiro, hun­dreds of families occupy building ruins just some kilometres away from the city.

Photographer Peter Bauza shows that this surreallike no man’s land is a real place.

Photographed with A Leica M240

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Previous page: Eduarda watches the scene below.

She lives in the ruins along with seven siblings.

Above: Two kids play around between apartment blocks. Right: Parents discuss the situation. They feel abandoned by the government

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Tailine plays in the courtyard between washing lines and rubbish.

The children in the ruined buildings have learnt to improvise

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This horse died suffering from multi­ple bee stings. His carcass lies in the courtyard where people did nothing and just watched it die

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For many people, squatting is the last resort before homelessness. They can no longer pay the rent for their apartments. Millions of people in Brazil live under these conditions. They are just one example of the large divide between the different social classes

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Weekend: the residents forget their worries for a short while.

It is their vitality that impresses photographer Peter Bauza

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Left: The search for a better life brought Domingo from Angola to Brazil. He tries to create a life with his new family. Above: Many residents have used a few simple means like curtains and carpets to make the bare rooms homey

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Edilane is a single mother with eight children. Her apartment was taken over by drug dealers – so she continues to live in the ruins

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Bare walls and a mattress on the floor: Maria Eduarda sits in the meager bedroom that she shares with four siblings

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Quiet suffering in a noisy setting: Simone suffers from a tumour that continues to grow.

She has not received the necessary care, even though she and her husband went to public medical centres various times

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Peter Bauza

in somehow. I was accompanied by an acquaintance who took me there, and we were quickly surrounded by people living there, asking what we wanted. I soon realised that each block had a block leader, a sort of house administrator.

We managed to speak with the first block leader and he took us on a tour of the building. These stairwells, with cables hanging everywhere, stuck together with cello tape and rubber bands. No intact windows, no doors, the former flagstones were broken.

It was an apartment block that a big construction com­pany had started to build thirty years earlier, but had never finished. Thieves had pulled up the floors to steal the copper pipes and cables. Consequently, with the passage of time, the structural steel worked into the floor has rusted and sways whenever children run over it. In one building, three of the storeys have collapsed – luckily when no one was there. I knew that these grey walls contained many stories, and I wanted to capture and tell those stories, but with integrity and respect. And this is how I told the residents I wanted to do it: with sensitivity.

The residents have christened the building Copacabana Palace, with graffito testifying to the name. It is a cynical name inspired by a luxury hotel on Rio de Janeiro’s prom­ enade. There it is a white palace with a spa, here it is a subsiding ruin without glass in the windows. Originally intended for the middle classes, constant construction and speculation crises meant that the five apartment blocks were never completed, and were left to fall apart already thirty years ago. The first years were turbulent, with drug dealers from neighbouring favelas in command.

Next the place was taken over by homeless people.

Now over 300 families call the ruins home. Grey concrete buildings without sewage water systems, with empty windows, loose cables and crumbling walls. It is a breeding place for mosquitoes and disease, but it is also a place full of joie de vivre. Though the inhabitants know that squatting in the buildings is illegal, they still try to make the paltry spaces livable and homey. The fear of expulsion, of buildings collapsing and of internal strife mean that every day is a battle. According to UN figures, there are a billion people around the world who live in precarious ­situations of poverty and social marginalisation – and many of them are in Brazil. They are just one example of the large divide between the different social classes. Photographer Peter Bauza spent more than one year with the residents of Copacabana Palace.

And how did they react? Do they want their story told?

At first they didn’t want it, of course. They wondered what this gringo wanted, this foreigner who only wants to make money with our misery. He’ll just come here once and then disappear. I said, “No, I’ll start by being here for the coming weeks and months, to live with you and understand it all.” No one is born a squatter, it’s politics and society that force him or her to become one. The people then told me that TV crews had come sometimes, and they’d wrapped plastic bags around their shoes. They’d gone inside briefly, stomped around and then left again. With time – it took a couple of weeks – the residents realised that I was serious.

And I always showed my work to them: we looked at the photos together and I interviewed them. There were children who told me it was like a favela; I want to get out of here, terrible things happen here.

How did you come up with the idea for this reportage?

While working on a piece about the Avenida Brasil, one of Rio de Janeiro’s endless radial highways, I happened to stumble across an abandoned motel, where I was confronted with squatting for the first time. Around thirty families lived there. I spent a few days there, dealing with this issue for the first time. Then I realised that the thirty families were representative of the millions of Brazilian people living in similar bad conditions. I heard about enormous building complexes further out of town, but which I didn’t find straight away. When I got there, however, I was seriously shocked.

Have the big sports events that happened here in recent years changed the people’s situation at all?

The people’s situation has not changed. There are a couple more train connections, that are mostly to the advantage of the middle classes. But nothing has changed for the Copacabana Palace residents. There were new jobs, but not for these people. They say that the Olympics Games were super, but the block leader told me, “We have children here who also do sports, like judo, for example. One of the children died recently from the Chikungunya virus that is carried by mosquitoes. That could have been an Olympic participant.” There are many illnesses there – some don’t even want to know what they’ve got. •

What was shocking about the place?

I saw enormous concrete buildings with gaping holes for windows, in the heart of a middle-class neighbourhood, surrounded by single homes, as well as large apartment blocks that looked similar to the occupied buildings, but that had been finished properly. People were all over the place outside, numerous scavengers and garbage collectors milling around, children shouting on the streets, there was junk all over the place; and then there was the stink and the grey, subsiding walls! Then I knew it: this is the story, this is where I should be, this is where I need to get

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Peter Bauza

What do you think of the reporting during the course of the Olympics – did it convey a false image?

Of course, many reports about the favelas and about the chaotic conditions there have been published. I think that my reportage does, naturally, open up people’s eyes. The more material that gets published now and the more people try to change those conditions, the better; but, at the moment, it doesn’t yet help the Copacanaba Palace squatters. They are completely cut off from the general public, and for the government they don’t exist. Security is lacking. There’s no presence of the government, there are no health services. There are some drop-in centres where a couple of doctors sit and hand out paracetamol; but there’s no real treatment. During the Olympic Games we saw some hospitals that no longer had enough oxygen machines. That news went around the world. The other side of the gold medal – the black side.

Brazil is a country that people immediately associate with colour, and colours also play an important role in your pictures. Did you ever, on the other hand, consider photographing in black and white?

I really love to photograph in black and white – a habit from my darkroom days. But no, in the case of Copacabana ­Palace I never considered it. Editors often thought that it would, once again, be presenting a black and white story of misery and suffering. While life at Copacabana Palace includes suffering, need and adversity, it surprisingly also has a colourful side of happiness, hope, passion, wishes, collaboration and solidarity.

At times a pictures shows a glimpse through to another room, and light sources also draw the viewer’s eye to the background. How important is the composition of the motifs for you?

Composition has always been important to me. I worked many years on it. With still lifes it’s easier of course: you have enough time to think about things or to wait for the right light. In contrast, pictures with people are only available for a second. I often saw things in advance and let them just happen. The more time you spend with these people, the more familiar everything becomes. You are no longer the observer, the journalist, the photographer. With some shots I knew: that’s the picture, the iconic image for the project, and I mustn’t let it slip me by. Such a picture is the one of the young girl on the windowsill. The com­ position then follows automatically. Of course, the many photos one has taken help the process. I often wished I’d had a second camera with a different focal length on hand. That would have made things easier.

Were you struck by any particular life stories?

Yes, of course. Seeing Edilane, for example, on a mattress with her children. I’d known her for some time when I took the picture. She was pregnant just then. Life is a challenge for her. She trusted the wrong partner so often, always falling for it. Now she has four fathers for her children, or maybe ‘makers’ would better describe some of them, because time and again she has to struggle through on her own. As though this quasi apocalyptic state is not enough, she isn’t even able to move into the social apartment she has a right to. She can benefit from the Minha Casa, Minha Vida apartment programme, but even that isn’t for free. Small monthly payments of around 15 euros over twelve months have to be paid; but the new complex of social apartments was built in Cidade de Deus, the wellknown favela from the movie City of God. A family from one of the drug bands has occupied Edilane’s apartment.

It was made clear to her that she shouldn’t try to move in there. It’s a typical case. Edilane continues to fight, paying her 15 euros a month so as not to lose her right to the apartment. At the same time she’s trying to get an exchange from the authorities, for a home without gangs.

I was also very moved by Simone’s story. Apart from many other illnesses, an x-ray revealed that she has a tumour. The medical support at the centres in the district leaves a lot to be desired. Simone has been to the doctors there so often, but so far she couldn’t be operated on because the waiting lists are so long. So she lives off tablets and tries to master her situation. She works when her health allows her to. Within the four walls she occupies, I found ‘Copacabana Palace’ inscribed on the wall. So there are many stories of people, families and individuals behind these grey, subsiding walls.

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Maybe for your next visit? As a photographer, how hard is it to find closure for a project?

I’ve now been back in Germany for a while, and I’ve continued working from a distance, for various publications and in collaboration with foundations. Of course, I miss the people. And when I went back, I went out again and then there were additional pictures – even though I actually had all the photos I needed.

So, it could go on like that for another five years; but then there’s a moment when you have to say, “Call it a day.

You’ve done it.” I’ve given them the opportunity to acquire a face and an identity, a voice. My next dream is to exhibit the work in Brazil, so that the residents can get a chance to talk with the government. I was back at Copacabana Palace recently, and I didn’t even have a camera with me – but it’s really hard for a photographer not to take any pictures.

Interview: Katrin Iwanczuk

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E r ne s t o B a z a n

Cuba, mon Amour From 1992 to 2006, Ernesto Bazan shared the life, loves and suffering of Cuban locals, before he was obliged to leave the country. Four­teen intense years gave rise to an extensive body of work, where the photographer avoids all clichés to reveal the soul of the country. Ten years after leaving the place he loves so much we talked about hope and feelings, memories and patience.

Photographed With a Leica M6

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“I made my fist trip to Cuba on a cheap week-long package tour bought in Mérida, Mexico. For many years I had strongly desired Cuba, as if longing for a woman that you meet only once and can’t get out of your mind.

I’m almost certain I lived there in another life.”

Havana, fall of 1992

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“I never get tired of walking. I gaze at the constantly changing reality that unfolds slowly and incessantly before my eyes. Havana is in a state of physical and mental decom­po­sition, in distress and falling apart. Degradation is vast. Everywhere traces of broken dreams and desolation.”

Havana, November 14th, 1992

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“Sometimes I’m asked when I’ll be finishing my work in Cuba. Usually, I don’t know what to answer.

The only thing certain is that I’ll continue to photograph, to roam the island in no specific direction, simply driven by my irrational instinct.”

Camaguey, April 3rd, 1998

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“Every time I left, my only certainty was that …

I wanted to return. Yesterday, walking on the Malecón, breathing the fresh sea breeze, it dawned upon me that I had found my roots right here, unconsciously sought after for so long.”

Havana, November 18th, 1995

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“After so many years of wandering, I felt the search was over. Sicily and Cuba seem to interlock like two pieces of a puzzle. In my daily sauntering along the streets of this island my soul is finally at peace. Now I know why.”

Havana, November 18th, 1995

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Ernesto Bazan

White sandy beaches, colourful rows of houses, racy rumba rhythms and the legendary mojito – these make up the carousel of classic clichés that seem to define Cuba. Bazan’s pictures allow us to get off that merry-go-round. The ­photographer has dedicated his life and soul to the island state in the Gulf of Mexico. Between 1992 and 2006, he spent what he considers was the most important time of his life there. Thanks to his Cuban wife, her family and his particular sensitivity, he gained an intimate glimpse into the world of the locals – their daily lives, their sorrows, their joys, their efforts. The photographer reveals the action in the streets and the country’s agricultural industry up close, unadorned and from unusual angles.

With great sensitivity, Ernesto Bazan reveals what life in the towns and the countryside is all about, placing his patiently collected reflections on the essence of human existence at the heart of his black and white photography.

Bazan was a part of Cuba. He remains so today, thanks to a conviction flavoured with spirituality. With his kaleidoscope of light and shadow, and every shade in between, he has created a unique landscape of the soul, that is effortlessly elevated beyond all space and time.

The series presented here is an excerpt from Bazan Cuba, the first part of a trilogy about the island state, which is self-published. After ten years absence, the photographer was able to return to this location. Now he offers insight into how this work came about.

up your own business. In former times you couldn’t be a taxi driver, your car would have been confiscated and you would have had to pay high fees. The culture has become more pragmatic. That made things slightly better. It’s a step into the right direction.

How did it all start? What does Bazan Cuba, which was published in 2008, and what does the country itself mean to you? You lived there from 1992 until 2006.

The book represents the first part of what has become my Cuban trilogy, which also includes Al Campo, an in-depth poetic view of my Cuban farmer friends’ simple and hard life, that I shot in colour, and Isla, a more metaphysical and subtle vision of the island I love so much, where I used a panoramic format. While living and photographing in Cuba I had no idea that I was creating a photographic trilogy. I slowly started realizing that after we left the island in 2006. Because Cuba means such a lot to me, I always wanted to spend time there, not only as a photographer but also as a human being.

Why is this Cuban series still so special to you?

It’s a combination of three things. First: me being a hunter, looking for something to capture, which sounds a little violent, but I definitely don’t kill (laughs). I’m even more like a fisherman. You don’t know what you’re getting. ­Second: I photographed my family; it’s a very delicate thing to take pictures of people you know. And third: the book has chapters. One of them is about the country side. I was concentrating on the farmers once we became close.

I feel blessed to have been given access. We had a good ritual: I’d bring a bottle of rum, some food and clothing.

I wouldn’t just take pictures, but give something back.

When it comes to Cuba, you get very emotional. You call your longterm project a “love affair”. In Bazan Cuba, there is a quote saying “I had strongly desired Cuba, as if longing for a woman that you meet only once and can’t get out of your mind.” Isn’t your wife jealous?

(Laughs) She is very generous! I was living there for fourteen years and couldn’t get back for another ten. The connection is still strong. I felt at home the moment I got to Cuba for the first time. Cuba is home to me. It’s the place where we raised our children and started a new life.

I’m sure I must have lived there in another life!

Please describe your visual approach. How do you develop you visual language? Does it change?

My work method is simple: when I find a place that resonates within me, I begin to work there for a very long time.

In Cuba I spent more than a decade. Thanks to my own workshops that I created in Cuba in 2002, I’ve been able to return to the same exact locations for seventeen years, such as the Sacred Valley in Peru, the Day of Dead cel­ ebrations in Oaxaca, Mexico, the State of Bahia in Brazil, and the Easter celebrations in Sicily, among many others.

Being able to return to each of these places to teach my students, year after year, has given me the unique and priceless opportunity to probe these soulful microcosmos.

My visual language develops at its own pace, with no set agenda. I simply get to a place and slowly my sensibility learns to adapt and respond to the stimuli my internal eye receives and responds to. •

You returned from your visit just a couple of weeks ago. How was it?

It was difficult for me to return. I was there for twelve days, after more than ten years. It was a very spiritual experience – it has to do with why I became a photographer. It’s like a dream: who is the voice behind it? It’s all connected.

As I grow older, I’m becoming more spiritual.

What has changed during your absence?

Outside the bubble very little has changed, but yet the country is different in terms of the economy: it is easier to set

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Ernesto Bazan

Speaking of poetry, in the preface of Bazan Cuba there is a quote by Rainer Maria Rilke, taken from his writings Briefe an einen jungen Dichter (Letters to a Young Poet) from 1903, where the poet describes the beginning of a creative process as being patient.

I believe that the key to a meaningful existence is to be able to be patient, to wait, if you are lucky, for the good moments that life might bestow upon you. I dedicated fourteen years of my life living and photographing in Cuba with no other intention than to follow my destiny. It’s a great gift that the work is slowly spreading around the world. The publication in your magazine is part of this new ‘journey’. Patience is truly everything!

How do you adapt to the environment? Is it easy for you to get close to people, or are you shy?

Not shy at all. I think photographers are like vultures.

I like to say that I’m a “delicate” vulture. Along with my students during the workshops, we try our best to give something back to our subjects whenever we can, by bringing back pictures, buying food, giving a bit of money.

The relationship becomes more equal and people are appreciative of what we give back.

Your images offer beautiful insight into the life and living, not only of people in Cuba. Your work is more universal. How do you manage to do that?

The only rational answer I can give is that, since my wife is Cuban, I started by being there from the inside. Becoming an insider allowed me to see a Cuba that only a few photographers were allowed to see. I spent fourteen years there!

This work is not about strangers, some people are part of my family, others are farmers I became friends with.

In Bazan Cuba you make use of handwritten diary pages and also contact sheets – this is very artistic and innovative. You developed the layout for the book together with your students.

Once we left Cuba for good in 2006, I knew that a big chapter of my life was closing and a new one was opening up.

I realized the time had come to self-publish the images taken over fourteen years going around the island mostly for myself. I wrote a letter to all my students asking them to help me not only to raise the money to self-publish with BazanPhotos Publishing, but also to help me with the ­creation of the entire layout and sequence of the book, the cover and all the different aspects involved in making a book. It’s what I like to describe as “choral editing.”

Even though the pictures qualify as street photography, they are intimate pictures, “soulful microcosms”, is how you like to call what you capture in them.

This might be what makes the difference to the myriads of other photographers. I need to get under the skin and capture the essence of a place or a people. This is why I like Robert Frank’s work. When he takes pictures, he is not only photographing. His work is also a protocol of his inner view. It’s a reflection and a mirror at the same time.

How did you compose the series for Bazan Cuba?

Please tell us something about the edit.

I like to say that editing your own work is each photographer’s Achilles’ heel, in the sense that we are too close to be able to do a tough edit, because we are too emotionally attached to our images. Once I feel that I’ve got the founda­ tion of a book, I begin sequencing the images on a magnetic board using magnets to hold the pictures in place. It takes me two years to come up with the sequence. I compare it to composing a music score in which different tempos play a role in the making of the whole piece.

Do you link your photographs to political statements?

Do you think of a certain message in your images?

I don’t take pictures consciously thinking of this. Some images become interlaced with political undertones naturally. No preparation. I only carry my camera when I’m taking pictures. I normally just go out and get lost in the place I want to take pictures of.

You photographed this series in black and white. It’s a good way to avoid clichés that are connected with Cuba.

What does black and white photography mean to you?

I feel it’s more congenial to my way of looking at life, but I also love colour and plan to shoot more in the future. Once I started shooting in colour, I started acting and reacting in a different way: I was able to do more close-ups or still lifes. All of a sudden, I realized I needed to combine them together to produce a poetic thread. It’s clear that the black and white work is more gutsy, it comes from the inside.

The use of colour taught me something important: there is poetry everywhere around us. The difficult thing is to become aware of that.

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What is your favourite picture from Bazan Cuba?

The cover image of the book! (see page 144) I was able to capture three different things in it. First: the sense of movement. Many Cubans are forced to move out of or within their country. Second: this ten year old boy could be me. I like that I can see myself and also the Cubans. Third: I can see how the boy feels about himself. I can see the boy I was and I continue to be.

Interview: Carla Susanne Erdmann

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gio va nni de l br e nn a

Assumptions The people Giovanni Del Brenna photographs on the streets of Paris appear to have no faces.

They do not even know they are being photographed.

With this approach, Del Brenna is dealing with his own, and our, ignorance in view of the social masquerade playing out in public spaces. He focusses on the clothing and other clues that lead to speculation about the individuals.

Photographed with a Leica M240

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giovanni del brenna

They say that the eyes are the windows of the soul. They are, at least, what makes us think we are linked to someone, an experience common to painting and photography.

Rembrandt’s melancholy gaze as an aging painter seems to follow us as we walk the room in the Rijksmuseum. Steve McCurry’s Afghan girl, Diane Arbus’s startled twins, stare back as we stare. This exchange replicates that of the artist and his model. It is, in John Berger’s words describing the experience of drawing a portrait, “as if (the model) was sending something out to meet my aim.” We are hooked.

with a flash, isolating details of people: hands, feet, back of heads. A striking picture of that period shows a close-up of a black woman’s hand holding a half-smoked cigarette, strongly contrasting with the looped yarn texture of her red jacket.

In his recent Paris series, shadows are as important as bodies, and everyday things, discarded, abandoned or waiting for a pickup, take on an important role: two baguettes left on a pavement grate; a bag of rubble belted with an orange plastic tie; a metal tie on a tree’s bark.

These are portraits of things. They have the same compact presence as his images of people.

But Giovanni Del Brenna has chosen to turn the convention on its head and has wondered: what happens when the photographer shoots with his subjects being mostly unaware? How is it possible to portray a person from the back? What remains of their individuality if their face is excluded from sight? What can we read in their posture, the colour and texture of their clothing, the cut and colour of their hair (soft white or aggressive red), the fleeting gestures of their hands, the position of their feet?

A solitary person seen from the back constitutes one of the major themes in Romantic paintings, as in the famous works by Caspar David Friedrich Wanderer above a Sea of Clouds or Woman Looking at Sunset (both 1818). But Friedrich’s models are posed within nature, not in a city street, and they are little more than a silhouette, rendered in planes of dark colour.

In Vues de dos (1981), Edouard Boubat has explored feminine beauty as seen from the back, focusing on women’s hair, backs and necks. His photographs are gentle and lyrical, a paean to women’s beauty.

Are people objects? It seems, at least, that they are photographed in the same way: the passers-by whose social class may be guessed from their clothing and accessories. Textures, colours, shadows take on a vivid life of their own. Plastic and leather, fur and vinyl, linen and nylon, hair, necks, bejeweled hands, young or wrinkled, nails polished or bitten raw, torsos thin or fat, feet encased in boots or high heels.

Are they getting away, are they hiding? Some sort of menace, of heaviness seems to weigh on them. Their ­silhouettes are compact, almost compressed.

Even though, after the 13 November, 2015 Paris attacks, Del Brenna noticed some changes in the city’s atmosphere – numerous security alerts on the subway, tensions and fear of people perceived as Muslims – he says that his photographic approach did not shift as a result; but he started his project just a month before these attacks, and I am left wondering.

And maybe it is this very sense of wondering, this uncertainty, that feeling of mystery, of something that exceeds words, that best defines Del Brenna’s photography.

His images are a question mark – they interrogate appearances, twist our usual perceptions, and leave us full of quizzical doubt and open questions.

Like drifting islands in a city of brick, glass and concrete, a Paris devoid of its traditional history and grace, his subjects walk away from us, clutching their loneliness like an oversized purse.

other photographers have also explored what happens when there is no exchange between photographer and model: for instance Walker Evans, in his famous series Many Are Called, shot in the late 1930s in New York’s subway, offers a glimpse into the unguarded moments of Depression-era Americans. Evans chose to hide his camera and shot through his coat’s buttonhole. In the weary, haunted, tired, sad or aggressive gaze of his subjects resides the illusion of reciprocity. What Evans’s unwitting models have in common with Del Brenna’s images is that they are unaware of being photographed, and seem wrapped up in their own solitude.

But Del Brenna’s inspiration may also have come from Lee Friedlander’s 1960s slightly surreal image of a blonde woman with a fur collar, the photographer’s shadow, with its spiky hair, projected on her coat as if on a makeshift screen. This image was shot in New York; and it is probably in New York, in 2002, that Del Brenna’s idea for his Paris series originated, when he started to photograph

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Carole Naggar has worked as a writer, poet and photog­ raphy historian. Her books include biographies of George Rodger, Werner Bischof and David ‘Chim’ Seymour.

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Photographers

Jo s é C ol ón

C l a udine Dour y

“The pilgrimage to El Rocío reveals where I come from.”

“I’m interested in the world of adolescence because it is situated at a turning point in life.”

Colón was born in 1975 near Seville, barely 100 kms from El Rocío. In 1998, after saving up for a year, he joined a beginners course at the international photog­ raphy school, Grisart, in Barcelona. Dissatisfied with the curriculum, he left six months later and became a self-taught photographer. He studied every photo book he could lay his hands on, visited every photo exhibition in town, listened to presentations and attended work­ shops. In 2014, together with Manu Brabo, Fabio Bucciarelli, Diego Ibarra Sánchez and Guillem Valle, Colón founded the online magazine, MeMo – Memory in Motion. The platform allows the photographers involved to present their reportages and projects according to their own criteria, enhancing them with multi-media elements. Colón’s reportages focus on themes of migration, social injustice and, time and again, faith. He lives in Seville and Barcelona.

Though originally a journalist, Claudine Doury has been dedicated to long-term projects for many years now.

Using subdued colours and poetic images, she deals with questions of memory and transition – in particular that sensitive turning point between childhood and puberty.

Doury has received a number of awards, including the 1999 Leica Oscar Barnack Award for her work Peuples de Sibérie, and the World Press Photo 2000. In 2004 she received the Yann Arthus Bertrand Award, as well as the Prix Niépce. Her photographs can be seen all over the world in group and solo exhibitions, as well as important collections. Doury is represented by the Galerie Particu­ lière in Paris and Brussels, and has been a member of the VU’ Photo Agency since 1991.

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José Colón used a Leica M9 with the Summilux-M 35mm f/1.4 Asph to photograph the pilgrimage and the festivities in El Rocío.

Claudine Doury photographed the Artek, Summertime on Crimea series, with her analogue Leica and the Summilux-M 35mm f/1.4 Asph.

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Photographers

F r e d Mor ta gne

Peter Bauza

“While filming I discovered new perspectives that could enrich my photography.”

“It’s the people who opened their doors to me. I’m aware of having a certain responsibility.”

Known as ‘French Fred’, Fred Mortagne is a skate­ boarder, videographer and photographer born in Lyon in 1975, who enjoys international acclaim thanks to his skateboarding video documentation. His photographic style emerges from his experiences on a skateboard: skateboarders see their surroundings as an obstacle course that needs to be conquered. In particular, urban settings offer opportunities to experiment. This is the background to his unique, exclusively black and white imagery. This series is taken from Mortagne’s book Attraper au Vol (Catch in Flight), released by Um Yeah Books in October, 2016, which covers his creativity from 2000 to 2015. His works has been shown in numerous solo and group exhibitions.

As a foreign trade salesman, Peter Bauza, 57, travelled regularly throughout Europe, Africa and South America.

Born in Düsseldorf, he has been living in Latin America for the last 20 years, where he also travels extensively for his new career, having turned to professional photogra­ phy. His particular focus is on social and geopolitical themes. A fluency in five languages makes it easy for him to connect with his subjects, such as the squatters at Copacabana Palace, the unfinished buildings on the outskirts of Rio, where, in addition to taking 25 000 ­pictures, Bauza carried out numerous interviews. A selection of the images were recently on display at the Visa pour l’Image Festival in Perpignan, where his work received the Arthus-Bertrand Visa d’or 2016. His book, Copacabana Palace, was published by Edition Lammer­ huber in August 2016. He is represented by the Italian Echo Photojournalism Agency.

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Le ica m240

Mortagne photographed Attraper au Vol with the Summicron-M 28mm and 35mm f/2 Asph as well as the Apo-Summicron-M 90mm f/2 Asph.

Up close: at Copacabana Palace, Bauza worked with an Elmarit-M 21mm f/2.8 Asph, an Elmarit-M 28mm f/2.8, an Summilux-M 35mm f/1.4 and an Summarit-M 50mm f/2.5.

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© Juan de la Cruz

Photographers

E r ne s t o B a z a n

Gio va nni de l Br e nn a

“Photography means to capture the poetry of life, the essence of our emotions.”

“I love photographs that give free rein to the imagination rather than the ones that impose a given story.”

Ernesto Bazan, born 1959 in Palermo, Italy, became a photographer thanks to a dream. He received his first camera when he was fourteen years old and began pho­ tographing daily life in his native city and in the rural areas of Sicily. Photography has been more than a pro­ fession to him, it is a mission in his life. Bazan studied at the School of Visual Arts in New York and graduated with a BFA and a Major in photography. His work has been exhibited in Europe, Latin America and the US. In 2002, Bazan created his own photographic work­ shops providing a special emphasis on Latin America. In 2008, he founded his own publishing house, Bazan Photos Publishing. He has published several books, including his trilogy on Cuba.

Though born in Genoa in 1974, Giovanni Del Brenna never lived there, but was brought up instead between Rio, Lisbon, Lille, Paris, Naples, London, Rome and New York. After studying Mechanical Engineering in Milan, he decided to dedicate his life to photography, studying Documentary Photography at the International Center of Photography (ICP) in New York, from 2001 to 2002. After that, he spent two years working as an assistant to James Nachtwey, was a member of the Grazia Neri Agency and took part in a workshop with Eddie Adams, before leaving New York for Italy in 2004. In 2010 he became a member of the LUZ Agency, and his pictures appeared in international magazines. His first photo book, Ibidem, was published in 2014 and included works created over ten years in various metropolises around the world. In 2015 he moved to France, and in October began the Paris project presented in this issue.

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Le ica m240

Ernesto Bazan photographed Bazan Cuba with a Summicron-M 28mm f/2 Asph, Summilux-M 35mm f/1.4 Asph and a Summilux-M 50mm f/1.4 Asph.

Giovanni Del Brenna used the Summilux-M 35mm f/1.4 Asph and the Summilux-M 50mm f/1.4 Asph for his Paris project.

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Imprint

M Magazine Special Edition Leica Fotografie International Third year – Issue 02.2016

LFI Photographie GmbH Springeltwiete 4, 20095 Hamburg, Germany Phone +49/(0)40/226 21 12 80 Fax +49/(0)40/226 21 12 70 ISSN 0937-3977 www.lfi-online.de E-Mail mail@lfi-online.de

Editor-in-chief

Authors

Inas Fayed, Frank P. Lohstöter

Christian Caujolle, Carole Naggar, Geoff Rowley, Luis de Vega

Art Direction Brigitte Schaller

Photographers Peter Bauza, Ernesto Bazan,

Design

Giovanni Del Brenna, José Colón,

Alessandro Argentato / Deputy Art Direction

Claudine Doury, Fred Mortagne

Editorial Office

Translation

Carla S. Erdmann, Katrin Iwanczuk,

Anna Sauper, Osanna Vaughn

Bernd Luxa, Simon Schwarzer, Olaf Stefanus, Katrin Ullmann Photo Editor Carol Körting

Reproduction: Alphabeta GmbH, Hamburg

Management Board

Printer: Optimal Media GmbH, Röbel / Müritz

Frank P. Lohstöter, Anja Ulm

Paper: IGEPA Profimatt

All articles and illustrations contained in the magazine are subject to copyright law. Any use beyond the narrow limits defined by copyright law, and without the express permission of the publisher, is forbidden and will be prosecuted.

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Leica Order Number: 91867

The M Magazine is also available as an app at the Apple iTunes store (iOS) and at Google Play and Amazon (Android). www.m-magazine.photography

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2016

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