quinta-feira, julho 19, 2007


Parque Eduardo VII, fotógrafo ambulante, 1972. Foto de Luiz Carvalho.

É uma das minhas primeiras fotografias. Foi feita com uma Nikon F ( 7254313 alguém sabe do seu paradeiro?) e uma objectiva tamrom 400mm 5,6.

Usei Tri-x 400, a foto tem muito má definição por causa da objectiva. Era má, mas muito transportável e custou-me na altura 5 euros ( moeda de hoje). Acabaram por ma roubar em Sevilha quando me assaltaram o Citroen Dyane durante a noite.

11 comentários:

  1. Luiz, para quando um livro com a sua obra? Penso que se justificava plenamente e de certeza que não teria dificuldades em encontrar quem o editasse! É um prazer ver as suas fotos!

  2. Xii... que evolução! ;)

    Para o livro pode prescindir desta.
    O valor desta imagem, quanto a mim claro, é simplesmente histórico.

    Faça um livro com as preciosas, tipo a que nos mostrou do metro ou a da rua da Feira da Ladra.

    Tem cliente!

  3. "Para o livro pode prescindir desta. O valor desta imagem, quanto a mim claro, é simplesmente histórico."

    Exactamente pelos motivos que refere é que não deve "prescindir".
    Eu não sei apreciar fotografias sob o ponto de vista da técnica mas apenas por gostar ou não gostar. E gosto muito desta fotografia.
    Aquele "fotógrafo ambulante", o enquadramento e a própria densidade da imagem, representa por si só uma época, fazendo lembrar os amoladores nas suas bicicletas, onde tudo se fazia, desde afiar tesouras a consertar chapéus.
    E faz lembrar um Parque Eduardo VII, onde havia vida sem correria, embora, ao que sabe hoje, já por aqui se passeassem pedófilos e géneros afins.
    E, mesmo sendo eu ignorante nestas coisas, uma foto deve ser vista também ou sobretudo, pelo seu valor “histórico”.

    Luíz, faço uma proposta, deixe de falar de política aqui, ou melhor fale também de política, mas sobretudo fale mais de fotografia, especialmente da época que marcou a nossa geração, que é uma geração de forte transição, até por que você já andou por aqui um bocado ás voltas, basta ver o que escreveu em momentos diferentes sobe o “sonso” do Carmona, embora eu o entenda, e como sabe quero que eles se f**** todos.
    Mas eu leio tudo o que escreve aqui e, mesmo sem querer, tenho sensibilidade analítica, dizem que típico dos escorpiões, embora eu acho que isso é treta da “abelha maia”, achando que, por vezes, a coerência escapa-lhe um pouco. E eu valorizo os tipos coerentes.
    Não leve a mal, sobretudo esta última observação.

    Ah... E esta fotografia enche a "alma"

  4. Caro JS,
    Como não tenho o seu contacto, envio-lhe por aqui este link:
    Se gosta de fotografia histórica, aqui tem.

    Terá que decidir qual o tipo de livro. Só com a rapaziada do blog, já tem a 1ª edição esgotada.

    Então quando a malta der conta que será júri dos 30000€ da EPSON....

  5. Agradeço ao amigo "PC".
    Já fui lá e vou ficar.

  6. Já agora, sabe também porque gosto de vir aqui?
    Porque naquela nossa idade eu tive duas Citroen Dyane.

    Mas não mas roubaram.
    E tem uma coisa curiosa.

    A primeira estampei-a e a segunda comprei-a sabe a quem?
    Ao tipo com que me tinha acabado de estampar, que me deu boleia.
    E, após o acidente e durante a viagem, eu lamentava perda da minha Dyane vermelha.

    Então, o homem disse-me que, olhe, eu tenho uma Dyane em casa, só que é branca e, se quiser, vendo-a.
    E eu não quis saber se era branca ou vermelha e o negócio foi feito na hora.

  7. Press photographers are often wrongly cast as cynics or manipulators. In fact, they are romantic figures, driven by a desire to tell the truth

    Harold Evans's Pictures on a Page (30 years old and still essential reading for anyone who cares about journalism) has a fascinating black-and-white picture on the back cover. It shows a beachside scene at some indeterminate foreign location, full of general mayhem, emergency workers and anxious onlookers. In the middle is a young woman. The copy around the picture, which is so good that I assume it was written by Evans himself, reads:

    Why is the girl in the centre smiling?
    Her fiancé lies at death's door after being rescued from the sea.
    She smiles because she saw a press cameraman and knew her picture was going in the papers.

    You couldn't ask for a crisper summation of the way photojournalism not only records, but changes how we see the world around us. Now, an enthralling exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery celebrates press photography during the golden age of Fleet Street, from its origins in the early 20th century to the 1980s, when the newspaper industry dispersed east and west across London. For newspaper romantics such as myself, it is a wonderful evocation of journalism's heyday - simpler than now, perhaps, but every bit as competitive, shrouded in sharp practice, rascalry and, yes, idealism. Like all journalists, photographers are on the whole driven by the desire to tell people the truth, as quickly as possible. And what could be wrong with that?

    The growth of the mass-circulation popular press both drove and reflected the great movements of the age: education and literacy for all, women's emancipation, mass travel, and the explosive developments in sport, television and celebrity. Once visionary proprietors such as Alfred Harmsworth, later Lord Northcliffe, saw that the use of pictures - coupled with exclusive stories and sharp copy - could drive his papers, the Daily Mirror and Daily Mail, a new breed of talented, industrious photographers developed.

    One of my favourite pictures in the exhibition shows a group of men in shirts and ties studying negatives in a leisurely sort of way, while in the centre an insanely elegant woman and a colleague are looking at page layouts. The caption reads: "Telegraph editorial team selecting photographs, London, 1 August 1964". It looks like part of a photo essay on British national institutions from Life magazine, but the contrast between then and today could not be greater. Now, picture editors sit hunched over their Apple Mac computers, and shirts and ties are for weddings only. On any one day, our picture desk at the Observer will get up to 15,000 images from all the main agencies, not to mention television stills and pictures that anyone with a mobile-phone or digital camera can email in. (There were 2,500 images from the recent England-Brazil friendly football match alone.) We are saturated in images every day, and it takes extraordinary skill to shine through.

    When I first started working in Fleet Street, photographers would bring in a couple of beau tiful prints for the picture desk to look at, often taking the view that the bigger the print, the more impressed the newspaper's executives would be - a strategy that often worked. Now there are thousands of images on the computer screen, each about an inch square, updating every minute. How do you find a way through that? It is strange to think now that it was only a few years ago that our man at the party conference would drive back to London drying his strip of negatives out of the car window.

    I'm a great fan of newspapers and newspaper people, not least because of their endless resourcefulness. Or call it "ratlike cunning", which, as the late, great Nick Tomalin pointed out, was one of the defining qualities of a successful journalist. In his wartime Diaries, Cecil Beaton, a great photographer and ferocious snob, tells how he had carefully framed St Paul's Cathedral in the ruins of a burnt-out shop to record the impact of the Blitz on London. "It was necessary to squat to get the archway framing the picture," he writes. "I squatted. A press photographer watched me and when I gave a surly look, slunk away." When Beaton returned after a leisurely lunch, he found that the pressman had ripped off his idea and his picture was "already on the front page of the Evening News". You'd have to have a heart of stone not to laugh.

    At the National Portrait Gallery, there's a similar shot from 1940: it shows a milkman cheerily delivering his daily pintas across a scene of un imaginable devastation after a German bombing raid. The photographer, Fox's Fred Morley, knew that a straightforward picture of bomb damage was unlikely to get past the censor, so he got his assistant to dress up as a milkman and pick his way through the rubble. Not quite the truth, but a great - and moving - wartime document. From 1910, there is an amazing courtroom picture of the wife-murderer Dr Crippen and his lover Ethel LeNeve in the dock at a packed Old Bailey. The snappers filled the court, concealing their cameras under their hats and masking the shutter click with a cough. Eventually the coughing grew so loud that the judge had to clear the courtroom. What's not to love with guys like that?

    What sells now sold then. The staple for press photographers seems always to have been built around crime, the royal family, sport and celebrity. And what is clear, too, is how quickly people wised up about how to use the power of the image. Harold Wilson is pictured on holiday in the Scillies in 1964, smoking a pipe and relaxing on the beach, surrounded by besuited reporters. It's a great image: the PM as ordinary Joe (a long way from the Blairs at Robin Gibb's mansion in Miami).

    A photo of Charlie Chaplin, cane in hand and sauntering along the Embankment, looks casual, but the photographer must have been told in advance where the great entertainer was going to be. Elsewhere, the Duke of York, later George VI, tries to look normal as he is photographed on a fairground carousel in 1922. Personally, I think he looks staggeringly awkward, but you can see what he is trying to do. We see him again later, chatting with the Queen Mother at a mobile canteen in the East End in 1940. What better way to get rid of the image of the monarchy as cold and aloof? Smart stuff, and a smashing picture.

    It is a staple of newspaper photography, es pecially at the "quality" end of the market, to take pictures of people having their picture taken. You know the kind of thing: a rear view of Madonna, say, on the red carpet facing a wall of cameras and flashbulbs. And this show does have two remarkable pictures of the British press on the hunt. One is a beautifully intense shot, from 1964, of a group of snappers trying to get a picture of Ringo Starr arriving for an operation on his tonsils. You can almost taste the concentration among the photographers. The other is a London Evening Standard picture from the previous year, at the time of the Profumo scandal. Mandy Rice-Davies and Christine Keeler leave the Old Bailey, almost literally engulfed by a sea of photographers. Right in the heart of it, completely unfazed and undoubtedly thinking of the next cheque, is the splendid Rice-Davies. Feral beasts, eh? Come off it.

    Photographers are romantic figures, a sense captured on celluloid in some brilliant films: David Hemmings in Michelangelo Antonioni's Blowup, Jack Nicholson in Antonioni's The Passenger, Nick Nolte in Roger Spottiswoode's Under Fire and James Woods in Oliver Stone's Salvador. Clint Eastwood's recent masterpiece Flags of Our Fathers told the story behind the iconic (and slightly phoney) picture of the US servicemen raising the Stars and Stripes at Iwo Jima. Photographs matter; so do photographers. They are on hand, often at great personal risk, to record the stepping stones of history. So, please see this show, and remember it the next time anyone tries to bad-mouth Fleet Street.

    "Daily Encounters: Photographs from Fleet Street" is at the National Portrait Gallery, London WC2, until 21 October. http://www.npg.org.uk
    Roger Alton is editor of the Observer

  8. As minhas fotografias de autor são uma reserva e tenho algum cuidado em as mostrar assim. Tb acho que o blogue é tão rápido e intuitivo que a fotografia por vezes tropeça.
    Para ser franco não vejo o blogue como meio para divulgar as fotos, mas posso ir pondo algumas


  9. Esta não é uma fotografia minha mas antes de mim. Se, passados 35 anos, quiser fazer o equivalente a esta nos dias de hoje, basta ir passando pelo Jardim da Estrela.
    Com um pouco de sorte, estarei por lá, mais ou menos assim:


  10. I am ashamed to be spanish ( por el robo de la máquina en Sevilla)

  11. Citroen Dyane 6, el coche de la gente encantadora