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The turning point


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Henri Cartier Bresson was one of the best photographers in the world. Born in France, the operator of photo reportage. In this text, it explains part of their ideology and their work.

REPORTING

The report outlines the elements of a problem, set an event or a impressions. An event is always so rich that one turns as it unfolds around, looking for a solution. It is sometimes found in a few seconds and sometimes takes hours and days, there is no standard solution, no recipes, we must be prepared as in tennis, the elements of the theme that make the spark jump, they are often separated, you do not have the right to unite by force; f Abrica staging trick would . Hence the usefulness of the report, the page will bring together these complementary elements scattered in several photos. Reality offers us such an abundance that count, simplifying but can be cut what is this?. You need to get working, get a discipline, to be aware of what is done. Sometimes one has the feeling of having made the best picture possible, however, still shooting because you can not predict with certainty how the event will unfold. It is necessary, however, avoid triggering unnecessary, avoid fast and mechanically photograph, sketch useless charging and recharging the memory and disturb the clarity of the whole. The photographer can not be a passive spectator can not be really clear if it is not involved in the event. Memory is very important, the memory of every photo taken at a gallop, at the same speed as the event, at work one must be sure you have not left holes, having expressed all, because then it will be too late may not be to retrace the time. ..

... Of all the means of expression, photography is the only one that fixes a precise moment. We play with things that disappear, and when they have disappeared is impossible to revive them. You can not touch the subject, the more you can choose from the images collected for filing the report. The writer has time to reflect before the word is formed, before putting it on paper, can relate different elements with each other. There is a period in which the brain forgets, and is a sort of slop. For us, it disappears, gone forever, hence our anxiety and essential originality of our profession, we can not remake our story once one is already in the hotel, back. Our task is to observe reality with the help of this notebook is the camera, fixing it without handling or during the shot, or in the laboratory using tricks, because that is seen by those who can see. In a photographic one arrives, as the referee to count the blows, as a kind of intruder fatally. have to approach the subject with lead foot, even if it is a still life. You have to go with gloves, but having the eye alert. Without haste, because it hits the water before fishing. No pictures with flash Of course, if only out of respect to the light, even when not. For anyone but the photographer would be intolerably aggressive. This work depends so much on establishing relationships with people that a word can ruin everything, and then the alveoli collapse. There is no system here, except be forgotten and to forget the camera, which is always too loud. Relationships are very different depending on the country and the media. In East a rush or simply impatient photographer is covered with ridicule, not remedy. If ever one is passed, because someone has noticed the camera, then you can not do anything but forget the picture and let the children gently swirl. I dwell in the report. I do interviews, but what is desperately looking for unique photo, which is sufficient unto itself for its rigor (without claiming that making art, psychology, psychoanalysis or sociology), for its intensity, and the topic beyond the simple story.

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Gypsy Voices


was waiting for the newlyweds to take civil leave the classic photos of the shower of rice, when a man touches my back and I wondered whether it could in a few hours make some pictures about own trucks. I told him if and we find ourselves in the direction I went.

I was surprised to arrive and see that it was a field where not only were the trucks but also a community of gypsies with their tents, the fires, giant pots, their long dresses and customs atypical for us.
The man who had contacted me telling me that I photograph different parts of vehicles for insurance, to verify their status. Then I figured it was for sale. It is known that Roma have a huge facility to sell their goods at a much higher price than they bought.
concluded
my works when a woman who by the way they behave with others and his age was deduced that one of the heads . This woman told me if I could bring those photos on Sunday and take advantage of that day was the birthday of a little baby of the tribe to take pictures of that event. I had said on Sunday at 17.30 and at that time was there with copies of photos of the trucks. After paying me for these pictures, I offered to sit and wait for all the family to take pictures of birthday.

human beings we tend to fear them into the unknown , to rare, which is different from what we usually see every day. Despite concerns "the boss" for making me feel comfortable, my nervousness grew in step with the curious as it was a birthday gypsy. Already sitting in the giant tent, having nothing to do, I began to observe my surroundings. This family consisted of 8 members and, as I had, slept in the same bed all . This was not a traditional bed one or two places, was enormous, I do not know if he had mattresses or anything to support their bodies.

The minutes passed and we were in winter, night is coming soon.

One of the things that disturbed me was that including spoke in their language, in the Gypsy language, Romany suppose, because there are several languages \u200b\u200binto one. - Lachisser mua fotosgraficer , Cibo , garapatis Adebel and stuff like that I was looking fiercely translate the gestures of each face who uttered them. There was no case, their little faces were so expressive, so tasteless, that I did not interpret anything. I did not know science certain if they talked to me, but neither gave me the feeling that they were talking about the weather or Party Gaudio, or the new Coke Light . He felt

me too well attended and generated suspicion that too me. When you're scared, everything looks awful and even the noblest gestures make us shiver with terror. Not that this is a type scary or anything, she felt she was daylight, he saw no one lantern in the campito , was several miles from home, waiting for some guests who never arrived, with cold with people wearing weird smell rare, speaking in another language, hungry ... hungry? For I must have thought with the voice of my stomach! They know everything that read our hands and our destiny undoubtedly heard my thoughts Gourmet. Because that just , so everything worse, I was offered a concoction , a brew, a brew of more than a liquid, a nectar that would surely have prepared the same Satan. Then I remembered-another feature fear is that the mind plays tricks , recalls when it should not do it, dig it that should be covered in those moments of terror-the thousand and one stories of gypsies and their curses. Like when I was a kid and I said "Look is to come to lend a gypsy curse that brought the eyes to Don Eusebio, the blind man's forehead." Stories of witchcraft, black magic and many others who spoke of the danger of these subjects . "Mrs. Chief" levitated toward me and extending his arm with the cup in his hand as if offering one knife, do me a hara - kiri , he says: "Drink, white man ". Only managed to raise my right hand in a gesture as if to say, "no need, do not bother, I'm shy enough to share a drink with people I have ever seen in my life and never wanted to see" . Noticing my denial "Witch Head ' and some Gypsies who were closely looked at me with eyes of fire, and she said " white man like you ". I looked at the bottom of the cup resigned and noticed it was a kind of tea, a tea but a variety of fruits inside. drank. It was delicious, but still did not enjoy it as it should because could not hide the consequences of my thoughts that this liquid could ride. What if I'm sleeping to steal the camera? What if I extracted the organs? What if I'm awake but hypnotic left to marry a gypsy? What if everyone on my bike fleeing? This last was the most improbable, but if you slept eight in a bed "because they could not get out shooting everyone in my Zanella ? tea gave me a mad desire to urinate. Was going to ask where the toilet when I noticed that one of the women had their needs without shame next to the tent. took more than two hours and the guests did not arrive. What is the dream never came to provided with tea, on the contrary, I was very active and in communion with them . A type gypsy who wanted to buy one of the vehicles appeared and were performing the roles of buying and selling when they asked for my help because the Gypsies could not read or write. At that point we were lit by the sun at night. I read the papers, I filled the forms closed the transaction and with guests at the camp we got ready to eat cake.

no longer mattered much the photos, I was just one of them, I was invited food together provide I even went in the general picture of the family embracing birthday. There was no more fear, got paid in a timely manner and treated me more like a family. A different experience, unforgettable, and I went to a very different culture to ours.