Anyone curious about Weston or wanting to own a representative selection of his work should buy this book. This IS Weston. This is not a few selected prints of his on a single theme, this is a wide representation of the best of Weston's work. One will find for oneself that ALL of Weston's pictures are about passion, that's what makes a picture a Weston. Here in this book are beautifully reproduced plates of his finest images, every one exuding shape and energy, and exquisite composition, none just ordinary. There are images of factories, fields, sand, wood and also the human body, all of which have been captured in all its glory by Weston. He teaches us that there is energy, art and passion in an amazing number of ways. Don't miss this fine book.

It was a nude Weston's photo of Tina Modoti, layed down on a rural house floor, in México, that had put me on the trail of both. Since then I've been delighted with the sensibility and the astonishing "color" of the B&W photos of them, nudes bodies, "nude" nature, what ever... It was the first time, almost ten years ago.

Review Summary: Edward Weston was trained as a portrait photographer and expanded his vision to include many natural shapes, including seashells, nudes, vegetables, trees, landscapes, and eroded rocks. He also did a little industrial photography, where the forms he saw also revealed pure shapes of interest to him. These shapes usually had a modernist feel to them that brings to mind Plato's theory of forms, pure ideas behind what we see every day. This book is fine overview of all phases of Mr. Weston's career, and contains many interesting and valuable essays about his career. The book is improved by having over 80 images that had not been published before this volume. The 320 duotone images are on very fine paper and are extremely well reproduced. Many would have benefited from being printed in larger sizes. If you decide to own only one book of Edward Weston's work, I suggest you choose this one.

Viewer Caution: This book contains many nude images of women, men and children that would surpass what would allow the material to obtain an R rating as a motion picture.

Review: Edward Weston's photography reveals a personal fascination with form, shape and shadow that provide a unique vision into the natural world. He was especially intrigued to see how the shapes of one object or subject could complement another. For example, his female nudes are often posed outdoors in sand dunes or beach settings where the gentle curves play off of one another. Where he focuses on eroded rocks, each one combines with another to express the equivalent of an abstract sculpture, standing out exposed by the erosion around the harder rock that forms the image.

While his landscapes could be every bit as majestic as Ansel Adams's best work, Weston's tastes and interests developed mostly independent of the leading photographers of his time. That independence gave him a greater versatility as a photographer and a more personal style. Few would mistake his ability to locate the patterns within nature and human-made objects for the work of any other photographer. To me, the artist closest to his vision was Georgia O'Keeffe.

My favorite images from this book include: Ruth Shaw, a portrait, 1922; Armco Steel, 1922; Nude, 1925; Dancer, 1927; Chambered Nautilus, 1927; Cypress, Point Lobos, 1929; Bedpan, 1930; Pepper, 1930; Soil Erosion, Carmel Valley, 1932; Church at "E" Town, 1933; Nude, 1935 (first one); Bug Tracks in Sand, 1935; Whale Vertebrae, 1934; Dunes, Oceano, 1936; Nude Series of Charis, Oceano, 1936; Zabriskie Point, 1937; Tree, Lake Tenaya, 1937; Point Lobos, 1940; Dillard King, Monteagle, Tennessee, 1941; Civilian Defense, 1941; and Nude, 1945.

While you look at these works, you will imagine that Edward Weston is at your side . . . pointing out details that you might not have noticed. His photography always has that character of being a reflection of his eye, rather than what the casual observer would naturally see. Both realities have equal validity, but your mind and eye will prefer Weston's.

In the biographical material, you will learn about his weakness for changing partners and how that helped to provide his muse. Many of the models for his female nudes are his lovers (including his second wife, Charis) and his nudes of children are of his son. His passion for Tina Modotti brought him to Mexico and helped draw his attention to many fascinating scenes.

After you finish enjoying this work, I suggest that you think about what inspires you. What would you be happiest and most proud being remembered for as your source of inspiration? How can you express yourself in more personal ways that show your most inner self?

May your passion inspire the goodness in others!

This beautifully produced book of 170 black and white photos by David Plowden, taken between 1956 and 1992, captures everyday man-made America before it vanishes, railroads, steamboats, farmland, small towns, bridges and the subject I like best, the grittyness of the US industrial city. Each page photo has a generous border and a caption centred below.

All the photographs are wonderful compositions, many of them divided into threes, horizontally, some land in the foreground, then a freight train and finally the sky. This is interesting because they show things that could not be moved, unlike studio photography, here the photographer had to move the camera to get the best shot. David Plowden seems to know instinctively when he sees something that it will make an interesting photograph. If you want to have a keepsake of slowly disappearing man-made America get this book.

Imprints is a wonderful representation of the America of our fathers and grandfathers that will soon exist no more, for better or worse. The photographic record in Imprints speaks wonderfully of the articulate and experienced eye of David Plowden. His images depict the unglamorous parts of life that most of us grow up with. Yet, at the same time, his keen vision shows us that there is beauty and art in everything. I grew up in the American Midwest in the 1950's and this book elicits nostalgia, sentimentality and a sense of loss. I wish I had been more observant, aware, appreciative at that time. Plowden has given me a second chance.

David Plowden has spent a lifetime taking his camera into small towns and down the backroads between them trying to capture an America that has almost completely vanished. We are fortunate that he arrived in time with a wonderful sense of composition that invests his black and white photographs with grace and beauty. This retrospective collects the best of these images into a cohesive photo essay of small towns, lonely farms and abandoned railroads. Placed against these small and quiet images are Plowden's photos of brutal industrial and mechanical structures. These nightmare images of factories and elevators and rail yards, draped in smoke and soot, make us as uneasy in turn as the rural photos made us nostalgic for the old ways. Plowden can cross between these two worlds so easily because they are really two sides of the same American coin. His brilliant photograph of a dark, brooding steel mill at the end of a grimy residental street combines the best and worst of the American dream. Plowden clearly would return to the simple small town days, but he has seen enough to understand that we are too far down the other path to turn back now. The photographs in this book are heartfelt. Some are very sad, and some impart a terrible sense of unease - as though we have stumbled onto an ugly secret. Plowden can take his place next to Walker Evans and Wright Morris with this book. He has captured our lost America and, for better or worse, marked the way into the new century.

Superb. I am a professional photographer, and i really admire Smiths work. This book is a great collection of some of his images.
The publishers did a good job reproducing the photographs, nice detail and tone. Definitely worth the price.

An excellent display and text of one of one of the world's great photojournalists. I would recomend this book highly to any fan of E. Eugne Smith

SMITH BOOK REVIEW

Having risked hernia to browse the impressive new book of an old friend and neighbor, ( W. Eugene Smith; Photographs 1934-1975 John T. Hill/Gilles Mora) what first grabs is the space, air and light enveloping these intense images with almost a loving caress, a sense of freshness and sunlight never possible in our dim, dingy-dusty claustrophobic Sixth Avenue loft building, where, just outside my studio door, were piled stacks upon stacks of his work mounted on black 16x20 dogeared mats, just waiting to be stolen, but which were, in fact, attributed by many visitors to some magical drugstore, and could I, please, arrange to have their wedding pictures made there, too? Gene couldn't sell one print for even twenty-five bucks in those days. Every night when I came home to sleep there was the despairing Clement Attlee staring upward at the bare light bulb over my doorway.

That was forty years ago, and twenty since Gene went to that great blast of ferrocyanide in the sky, and much ado about him has taken place in the interim. New York fifties mindset was Freudian psychoanalysis; everyone went to a shrink. Any prominent individualistic tendencies were often condemned to one definition of neurosis or another, and in the rather small and specious world of photography , Gene's maverick determination stood out in high relief. Businessmen photographers-- like the young Lee Friedlander, himself awash in Freudophilia, considered Gene a 'spoiler', pretentious-precious, and went instead to sit at the feet of the polymorphous Walker Evans; yes, "pomposity" was pretty much the legend that Gene's exit from LIFE brought down around his head. Not a team player at all; tsk tsk. And in his brave repudiation of corporate moloch, Gene valiantly pratfalled himself right into the lap of utter poverty.

To large extent, Gene's persona seemed to require a struggle against impossible odds; it focused and sharpened him to the high standards he demanded from himself , and he was no slouch when it came to grandstanding, often with tears, his anti-Goliath position. He built his own Myth of Smith, his self-invented public (relations?) image, fine when LIFE was footing the bill, but now, inside our firetrap former whorehouse , there was real rent to pay, real electric bills, bona fide empty refrigerators. That is about when we began to get acquainted--- I never really bought the Myth; for me he was just the strangely interesting guy downstairs who became a great pal.

Outside the loft, Gene was quick to acquire the packagable cliche of the garret-starved self-destructive artist. Compared to Van Gogh, he earned some residue of American Puritan contempt; this man whose great humanity was most evident in his work was treated most inhumanely by his peers.

Inside the loft, for many years the two of us were in daily contact, working and trying to exist under extremely difficult economic circumstances, and we often had one helluva good time!! I found him to be a genial, generous, courageous---often outrageous-- warm wildly witty man, always humble, sensitive, shy and hard-working, sharing a great interest in art, with a remarkable philosophical perspective. We jabbered of Welles and Chaplin , wide angle lenses, witches, Goya, Haiti, Satchmo, Stravinsky, O'Casey, Joyce, Kazan, war, suicide, politics, cock-fought over girls, guzzled cheap scotch, and swung with the jazz that regularly took place in my studio , as if great mind trips could avert the cold fact of the necessity to eat. I remember one hot summer day, making cream cheese and molasses sandwiches for us on cinamon bread. Gene argued that we didn't have to buy the molasses because we could get the iron from our rusty tap water. As a rule, his antic humor and punning sense managed always to keep things slightly off-balance; this man who had such a profoundly dramatic instinct and attraction for the tragic had also a capricious spirit of the absurd in the way he conducted his daily life; Van Gogh with a manic dash of Robin Williams.

And astonishingly productive. Yet always the gloomy impassioned chairoscuro came out of the darkroom-- prints blacker than black, then mounted on black, dense, intense, often in layout strangulation, making sure; I , W. Eugene Smith , won't let you go gently into that unferrocyanided good night. Sans assignments, now more artist than journalist, for years on end Gene shuffled his prints, made and remade PITTSBURG, photographed our jazz and our personal La Boheme, tried a failed book, a failed magazine, and finally luck brought him The Jewish Museum show and then his crescendo, Minimata.

One night in Bradley's in 1975, Gene said, "Well, Dave, I finally got there at last. I've got ten thousand dollars in the bank for the first time. Of course, it's only going to be there about a week."

Jump cut posthumous; an icon, passed away amongst us, is now suddenly acknowledged. Many who jeered him, refused him recognition, now come out to sycophant, to pedestal, to celebrate his life-- including LIFE itself. Gee, we're SO sorry; but let's exploit!

Those twenty-five dollar prints buckled the registers at auctions, and giant profits were made; yes, the same old art-woe story--- just at the time Vinnie the Gogh himself was pulling down millions in Sotheby sales. The dark side of Gene, finally, surely, took care of his children and at least one of his wives.

We get a brilliant and sensitive biography by Jim Hughes, a soso documentary, worldwide traveling shows. And then it seemed over. "There's no money left around for Gene Smith anymore" comments executor John Morris in the late eighties, handing his stewardship over to Gene's bastard son.

Now, surprise! comes this current coffee table dominatrix which gives Gene's babies, his pictures, the opportunity to have a life of their own in renewal. SNAP!! Of course one can argue anew the merits of the individual essays and which choices are the best, etc., but for myself-- having gone to bed amidst these images for many years, there's something new about them now; suddenly welcome. There is a spank-spank/no-no here; not all of what we see are Gene's own prints, very much against the artist's wishes, but the damage is by no means on the level of, say, Clement Greenberg's sanding off the paint on David Smith's sculptures after his death. And most of these choices help illuminate Gene's way of seeing and working. There are also textual inaccuracies; Hall Overton did not own the loft bldg. I had rented three floors, and Hall rented originally from me, and my friend Sid Grossman sent over Harold Feinstein to share Hall's floor. When Harold left, he brought in Gene.

I liked John Hill's technical essay at the closure. I was with Gene the night MAD EYES burnt out all the surrounding background, with ritual Clan MacGregor celebration, for neither of us-- one painter, one photographer-- gave a whit about 'objectivity'.

This spacious book-bomb adds honor and light to these master photographs, allowing them their own life and breathing room not usually available. Gene's insistence on control force-gilded his lilies, giving barely any space in his layouts to let the eye feel free to wander on its own volition. Now one can look afresh with impunity, and they look a bit different--even better.

In any event, Gene, now busily groping angels, can no longer argue in his own defense, no longer joke, weep, holler, cajole, rage, pun. And he doesn't need to.

You know? This fellow really had one goddamned great eye and sense of when.

David X Young

Oct 22 1998

Review Summary: Lewis Hine was a pioneer in documenting the working conditions of children. His poignant images of coal mines, sweatshops, and factories shocked America into passing its first legislation to regulate and reduce child labor. Generations of Americans have benefited as a result. Review: The foreword by Walter Rosenblum describes Lewis Hine as being "a born teacher." Mr. Rosenblum recounts Mr. Hine's generosity in writing a letter or recommendation for him saying that Mr. Rosenblum was "a new and better Hine." This example captures his compassion and generosity towards others. He never saw a person he didn't respect and have compassion for. Each image in this fine book contains that "compassionate vision." His subjects included immigrants at Ellis Island and in their first tenement homes, working conditions in sweatshops and factories, the everyday life of the working poor, and the building of the Empire State Building (with views from the 100th floor girders).

The reader will get a "fresh insight through his vision" because Mr. Hine takes you places you never imagined existed. The scenes speak for themselves and cause you to have a visceral reaction. My sense of vertigo at thinking about swaying on a girder was palpable as I looked over the Empire State Building construction photographs. In viewing the sweatshops, I could feel heat building up in my body. In the images of breaker boys, I could feel the dusty despair of the coal mines in my bones and lungs.

From a technical point of view, the compositions are very fine and draw the eye into the scene. You get a strong sense of the moment, even though the scenes are 70-90 years old. The images strike hard at you with their messages . . . without using captions. They are as gripping as anything you have seen about work or slum life on the front pages of a newspaper.

Sadly, Mr. Hine's career hit a major snag in the Depression. Stieglitz and he were on different paths, and those who were showing interest in art photography were uninterested in social realism. He was impoverished, had his house foreclosed on, and lived on welfare. His wife died on Christmas 1938. He died in November 1940 "impoverished, dispirited, worn out." He was "malnourished to the point of starvation." One cannot help but think that he moved closer to living the life of a saint than many of us will ever achieve.

My favorite images in the book include: New York City Sweatshop, 1908; Climbing into America, 1908; Young girls knitting stockings in Southern hosiery mill, 1920; Cigar makers, Tampa, 1909; Breaker boys in coal chute, South Pittston, Pennsylvania, January 1911; Playground in tenement alley, Boston, 1901; Cannery workers preparing beans, c. 1910; and Photographs of building the Empire State Building, New York City, 1930/32.

I suggest that you follow Mr. Hine's fine example and think about how you can visualize important messages that others can best appreciate as images. What images would you capture? How would you share them? Who would benefit?

Be prepared to help others see the injustices that you do!

This book together with Giselle Freund's "Photography and Society", Susan Sontag's "On Photography", Petruck's "Camera Viewed", Nathan Lyon's "Photographer's on Photography", is essential reading for any student of photography at college level.

Margaret Morton has a way of allowing her photos to speak to us. We are at once drawn and repelled by her photos. I believe her subject matter taps into something 'primal' (not in the sense of 'primitive' but in the sense of 'real') in all of us.

While the photos, in black and white, are quite stark, there is an element of beauty that seeps from the reality of the subjects photographed. There is not much sensationalism and there is a sense of pride in the dwellings constructed. Morton's photos and allowing the people to speak for themselves makes for an insightful and moving photo essay.

...

This enchanting work brings the burlesque back to life! When Lydia Thompson hit New York theaters in 1868, she and her troupe were an immediate success. But she also initiated a vituperative debate over the appropriate limits for the female performer. Robert Allen vividly describes how Americans increasingly put aside their religious reservations and took to the theater by the mid-19th century. He first examines the physical and social arrangement of space within the theater auditorium. He then takes his reader on a journey through the male-impersonating, revealingly attired, slang-spouting, minstrel-dancing burlesque women to their descendants - the cooch dancers and modern day striptease. A unique book for entertainment buffs and feminist thinkers alike. To read actual burlesque plays see "The Best Burlesque Sketches".

This is a must have book for anyone intereted in photography. Jerry Liebling is one of the truly important photographers in this country. His work is in every major museum collection. Yet, he is almost unknown outside photographic and academic circles. "The Minnesota Photographs" offer a glimpse at an era that Liebling captures in his own very personal, insightful way. These are powerful pictures from the 1950's and 60's. Familiar, new, fresh, inspiring. George Wallace on the campaign trail surrounded by disinterested cronies. Eugene McCarthy and Hubert Humphrey at a baseball game. A commodities trade, his head buried in a handfull of soy beans, a home for retarded people, a slaughter house, boys hanging out on the street. It's great to see a body of his work from a particular era, not just a few pictures representing different subjects. Roger Sherman New York City

This is a work of conceptual brilliance, in its argument about why pragmatism occurred when it did, its cultural ramifications and its current importance. In addition Livingston illuminatingly connects pragmatism with post-modernism.

This book offers the reader an evaluation of the early years of football and the press' role in popularizing football for the American consumer. A must-read for anyone who loves football.