by Gerald Boerner
“My pictures do not belong to me.”
— Edouard Boubat
“You cannot live when you are untouchable. Life is vulnerability.”
— Edouard Boubat
“The most important thing is to go out and see the stars, not to see them in books.”
— Edouard Boubat
“The wandering photographer sees the same show that everyone else sees. He, however, stops to watch it.”
— Edouard Boubat
“To live, to experience the world, to communicate with a camera, all these are interrelated and cannot be separated from everyday live.”
— Edouard Boubat
“Was it the same light that enchanted the first photographers? It is the same, and it is still brand new — it is something that never wears out.”
— Edouard Boubat
“Taking photographs is not something that happens only in a moment I press the button. It is a full-time occupation. For me there is difference between leisure and work.”
— Edouard Boubat
“Because I know war… because I know the horror, I don’t want to add to it… After the war, we felt the need to celebrate life, and for me photography was the means to achieve this.”
— Edouard Boubat
“There are certain pictures I can never take. We turn on the TV and are smothered with cruelty and suffering and I don’t need to add to it. So I just photograph peaceful things. A vase of flowers, a beautiful girl. Sometimes, through a peaceful face, I can bring something important into the world.”
— Edouard Boubat
“A photographer is a witness. He has a moral duty. Every picture must be true and honest. I believe a photographer’s strength is his ability to accurately record reality. There are photographers who think they are lucky if they find unusual or special subject. But it is never the subject that is so marvelous. It is how alive and real the photographer can make it.”
— Edouard Boubat
Edouard Boubat (1923 – 1999)
Edouard Boubat was a well known French art photographer. He was born in Montmartre, Paris. After studying typography and graphic arts at the Ecole Estienne, he worked in a printing company but dreamed of being a photographer. After WWII he decided to go for his passion and become a photographer. He focused on the poetic aspect of life and things. He took his first photograph in 1946 in reaction to the banality and horrors of the Second World War and was successful immediately, receiving the Kodak Prize the following year.
Afterwards he travelled the world for the magazine Realites, but always kept a special interest in photographing his hometown, Paris. I’ve recently discovered French art photographer Edouard Boubat, whose career began in 1945, in reaction to the horrors of World War II. My favorite (and one of his most favorite) photographs is Lella, taken in 1947, who looks directly at the camera and is wearing a black bra underneath a sheer white top. I’ve included two of my other favorites. He sought to make photographs that were a celebration of life. The French poet Jacques Prévert called him a "Peace Correspondent." His son Bernard is also a photographer.
Boubat was known for his romantic images of Paris and its people after World War I as well as portraits from various countries around the world such as India, Morocco, and London. He started making photographs in 1945 or 1946, in reaction to the banality and horrors of the Second World War. He sought to make photographs that were a celebration of life. He worked as a freelance photojournalist on contract to the magazine "Réalités" in the 1950s and 1960s and travelled widely throughout his career. He worked as a press photographer, and went freelance in 1968, after which he travelled widely.
[NOTE: The material below consists of selected portions of an interview of Boubat by Frank Horvat. The full interview is cited below and is well worth reading for those interested in a more complete understanding of Boubat’s work… GLB]
In a photo there are always too many things, except when it’s a good photo. To speak specifically of my own work – because that’s what we are here for – I believe that, from the very beginning, I managed to make photos where there was nothing more than what was needed. Take the little girl draped in dried leaves, where everything else is but a blur. It was just after the war, all it shows is that little girl. Click. Or the man with the baby, by the seaside. Nothing but him.
What Robert Frank, Eugene Smith, Cartier-Bresson did, they could no longer do. Or Doisneau. His Paris no longer exists, he could never again find that atmosphere of the 50s. I was told that the same tennis player, photographed in New York, Berlin or Paris, wouldn’t "give" the same photo, because the atmosphere wouldn’t be the same…. Atmosphere is nothing, and at the same time it’s a lot. One notices it when looking at a movie from fifty years ago. This is one thing that a photo can catch, sometimes without intending to.
I know that one doesn’t get more than two or three good photos a year. But there are some blessed moments. I remember a superb morning, in Brazil: I arrive at an old circus, and I know right away that I have to take photos, that something there is being given to me. Of course I took some other photos during the rest of that trip, but without really believing in them, it wouldn’t even have been worthwhile developing the rolls, I knew I would never blow them up. There are days when one walks around without getting a single photograph, without running into anything. There I refuse. But there are other times when things are offered to me, like gifts. I arrive, I stroll around town, everything is given. Click. It’s like the story of the magic gift, which comes up in many teachings, for instance by the Sufis, but also in some of our own legends. But in order to seize that gift, one has to be prepared. If I am, and if my camera is there at the right moment, click, all I have to do is accept it.
In photography we use some marvelous words, like "aperture." One is the camera’s diaphragm, which is a mechanical thing, but there is also our own "aperture", our own opening up to reality. Take the photo of the man on the seashore. It was my first trip to Portugal, I believe it was in 1956. In those days traveling seemed extraordinary, there were very few tourists, we had been on the road for two or three days, we arrived at a hotel by the seaside, Sophie was a little tired, and I said, "I am going to the beach," I had only my little old Leica, and that man was there, click. I had only arrived half an hour before, but there he was, with his child, as if he had been waiting for me, and so I took my first photo of Portugal, a photo that will endure. I had come a long way, I had dreamt of Portugal, so in a sense I too was waiting for him, there was expectation on both sides. In some way, a photo is like a stolen kiss. In fact a kiss is always stolen, even if the woman is consenting. With a photograph it’s the same: always stolen, and still slightly consenting.
My assignment was to cover the life of a man living in the street – as you know, about one third of the people in that city live and sleep on the pavement. What I remember best are the mornings, that is something else I would like to talk to you about, even if it doesn’t exactly answer your question. But I am doing it on purpose, just to annoy you a little. I would like to speak of those mornings. Click. I remember people still asleep, like corpses in shrouds, in fact some were actual corpses, in actual shrouds.
Those mornings with that fabulous light – I always loved that light. Or the mornings in New York, we haven’t been there together, but we certainly lived the same thing: one goes out to have breakfast, the sky is blue, when you leave the coffee shop, the fellow behind the counter says: "Take care" (English in the original), it’s just a wonderful thing. Or that other morning, when I woke up in an Indian village, the previous evening the people had welcomed me, saying: "You may sleep here." So I really slept there, on the ground, there wasn’t anything else, I got up very early – when you sleep on the ground you get up early – and I made that photo of the village, with those hens, that cow, in that foggy light. And on that occasion, to come back to your question, there was nothing to be refused, the photo was in front of me. Click. I only shot two or three, there was no reason to take fifty. In those rare moments, when there is nothing to be refused, one doesn’t have to shoot ten rolls, the photo is there.
Thanks to Eugene Smith, I had been sent to the South of France – I didn’t have a penny at the time – to do a story on corn. I was using a Rollei – and in a Rollei, you recall, there are twelve pictures. I had finished covering the story, I was going to take a train at six in the evening, it was four o’clock, there was one last photo left in the camera. I pass a yard on the farm, I see my tree with the hen, click, I take the photo, it was simply to finish my roll. There is only one photo of the hen and the tree, it was picture number 12.
There is a word we haven’t used yet: virginity. It is a very beautiful word, though nowadays one makes light of it. But it is very important. To make a photograph, the plate must be virgin, but your eye as well. Some say "innocent. Boubat is an innocent guy." I am no more innocent than anyone else. When one has been in Africa or in South America or in India, where there were hundreds of thousands of lepers, one cannot remain innocent. I was in an African village and everyone was shaking my hand and from time to time I would realize that they didn’t have fingers. Poor Boubat acted as if he hadn’t noticed. Because he had seen them, poor beings, their difficulty in just standing on their feet, the suffering they endured for a bowl of rice. No, I am not innocent. But, still, one must retain a certain innocence to keep one’s eyes fresh – and I have that innocence. People say, "Oh, good Boubat, brave Boubat, what nice photos he makes!" But my purpose is not to make nice photos, even though sometimes I like to show bouquets of flowers. But what does it mean, showing a bouquet of flowers? It means knowing that, behind that bouquet, there is all the misery of the world. Through that bouquet, the photographer may suggest something that is beyond.
But for me there is another key word, which means almost the opposite: "face up." For me, to photograph is to face up to something. My "gift-moments" come when, one way or the other, I have to face up. That’s what I often say to young people, who show me their photos of shadows on walls or torn posters, more or less manipulated in the darkroom. "It’s interesting," I say "but you haven’t faced up to anything." In my case, before any important photo, I get stage fright, even more so at my present age than when I was less experienced, and in spite of working with a light that I know well, in a studio that I had built to my specifications, with assistants, stylists, make-up artists, hair dressers, who are all there to help me. I may rehearse before shooting, I may shoot fifteen rolls on a subject – but I still get stage fright.
Background and biographical information is from Wikipedia articles on:
Edouard Boubat that can be found at…
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edouard_Boubat
Also:
Edouard Boubat Biography…
http://www.horvatland.com/pages/entrevues/01-boubat-en_en.htm

