“Put Me Down With People”
Kim Carpenter
Mention famous
women photographers of the early and mid twentieth century, and most frequently
names such as Dorothea Lange, Marion Post Wolcott and Margaret Bourke-White come
to mind. Yet one of the most prolific and talented photojournalists of that generation
barely registers with most people – even those who have a passion for photography
and its history. Esther Bubley (1921-1998) began her career at barely the age
of twenty and proceeded to document some of the most poignant moments in U.S.
history during the 1940s and ‘50s. She became the first woman to win a first
prize award from Photography Magazine, and her work became a favorite of Edward
Steichen, appearing in his seminal exhibition The Family of Man at the Museum
of Modern Art in New York City. Today, however, Bubley remains relatively unknown,
relegated to passing references and scholarly footnotes.
As the Esther Bubley
Estate steadily works to reintroduce this photographer to new audiences, photojournalism
itself faces a crisis of sorts. Wire services have been scaling back on the work
they offer freelance photographers and agencies. Fewer documentary images appear
in newspapers, magazines and books, while the advertising industry makes commercial
use of such photos to pitch items ranging from cigarettes to sweaters. Conversely,
recent events have created a growing desire among Americans to view the kind
of images that appeared during World War II, which often helped give meaning
and some semblance of structure to chaotic times while simultaneously offering
quiet criticism.
Bubley avoided
sentimentality and drama while subtly evoking the poignancy of everyday life
in the United States. After a brief stint at Vogue, she arrived in Washington,
D.C. in 1941 and quickly trampolined from working as a lab technician at the
National Archives to documenting wartime in the nation’s capital under Roy
Stryker at the Office of War Information (OWI). Over the next two and half decades,
she worked as a free-lancer and received a wide variety of assignments, photographing
for companies such as Life magazine, Pepsi and Standard Oil. She produced a staggering
quantity of images reflecting the breadth of American culture and society with
diverse subjects including East Coast housewives and Texas mayors, children,
working men, old people and African
Americans. Their
images offered more insight into what it meant to be American than did slick
portraits of politicians or celebrities.
Compassion is her subtext: “Put me down with people,” she said, “and
it’s just overwhelming.” Several photos dating from World War II remain
especially revealing. “There are certainly images that glorify America,
but there’s also a real sense of awareness of the problems,” Barbara
Tannenbaum writes. “All of those [photos] really reflect aspects of wartime
life that we tend to ignore. She could have gone out and taken the patriotic
scenes, but instead she chose that Hopper-esque sense of urban loneliness.”
A striking image from the early 1940s serves as a prime example of precisely
this type of perspective. This photo, a masterpiece in composition and lighting,
is visually muted yet emotionally vivid. It shows a melancholy young woman “waiting
for a pick-up” in the Sea Grill, a Washington, D.C. bar and restaurant.
Although she is in a public place, her isolation is palpable. A harried passerby,
just outside the window, barely notices her. This is urban loneliness made heartbreakingly
simple. A 1947 photograph titled A Proud Mother takes a more understated approach.
This photo belongs to Bubley’s award-winning Bus Story series, which was
her first major assignment and widely circulated. The series itself was part
of a national effort to convince Americans to eschew cars and trains in favor
of bus travel, because rubber was rationed from automobile tires and trains were
needed to transport the country’s servicemen. In this shot, an African-American
woman waits in a bus station with her three young children, a sunbeam from a
high window caressing the mother’s shoulder. The resignation on the woman’s
face implies that she is experiencing far deeper emotions than mere pride. Here
are patience and weariness. This image of a black family seated together on a
bench, while a white woman sits with her back turned to them, quietly examines
the American plague of racial issues. But Esther Bubley was no crusader for social
change; she watched, witnessed, and recorded.
Although
Bubley was highly respected by her generation, her productivity ebbed during
the mid 1960’s when she entered into quiet retirement to pursue her own
pet projects. This coincided with television supplanting glossy picture magazines
such as Life and Look. Just as mid century social documentary began to fall out
favor, up-and-coming photojournalists simultaneously began to reconfigure themselves
throughout the 1970s and into the ‘80’s to enter the gallery world,
where photos were viewed more as single pieces of art rather than as documents
of the times. Despite exhibitions of her work at galleries such as the Limelight,
the Eastman Kodak Gallery and the Smithsonian, Bubley nevertheless chose not
to participate in the revival of photography as art, and for this reason, her
photos retreated even further into obscurity. Although she certainly left an
indelible print on photojournalism, her lack of interest in self promotion possibly
best explains why her influence on contemporary photojournalists remains difficult
to trace.
Fortunately,
curators across the country are beginning to correct the public’s scanty
exposure to Esther Bubley’s contributions to photojournalism by exhibiting
her photographs to a new generation of museum visitors. Recent exhibitions have
demonstrated her unparalleled technical excellence and her insights into persons.
Most notably, the Akron Art Museum hosted America As It Was: The Photojournalism
of Esther Bubley last summer. In these days of spectacular grand-scale disaster
photography, Bubley’s sensitive, personal photojournalism is a welcome reminder
of the humble, quotidian human image.
