Monday, November 1, 2010
I've always adored how Joseph Szabo's work swings between capturing the melodrama and the alienation of teenage life. In love with the guy perched on the car bonnet (5th photograph from the bottom) - wistfullness of 'elsewhere' amidst the hoopla. When I was at school I used to compare Szabo with Diane Arbus, and I always found Szabo wanting, for some reason... I think it was because I was trying to 'get' photography and have a really strong philosophy about it. Also because I was at school with people who spat upon fashion photography and thought my mind was the equivalent of a cheap whore for loving it so much. Since I've committed to championing the genre of fashion photography, I've ironically fallen back in love with 'art'/'serious' photography like Szabo's work, and I can really see both sides of the argument - that fashion images are not comparable to the spirit of much art photography - but that's what's so great about the genre - it's a fairyland, and Szabo is real life. Why cant we love both?