An Open Book: Anders Petersen

[TIL #24] « Photography is not about photography. It is about life. »

Apr 18, 2024

As a kid, there are things you cannot refrain from doing even if a figure of strict authority sternly reminds you that you shouldn’t. Once upon a time in a far away city, i saw the cracked window of a jewellery: the glass had not yielded but it had taken a serious hit in what i assume had been a furious attempt at robbery. The cracks formed a star with long trembling lines radiating around its centre. It was a thick window, which rendered the star deep: the cracks did not only affect the surface, they expanded inside the depth of broken glass. It was a cloudy day but the light inside the shop made the star glow in an irresistible manner and i had to put my finger to it, even though, as i approached the façade and extended my arm, i could hear the angry voice of an adult urging me to stop being silly.

My inappropriate behaviour responded to an overwhelming urge to touch the reality of this unusual and dramatic bit of the urban fabric: it was peculiar, it was weird and it was beautiful: i needed to get close to it. I touched the star. From that moment on, i knew that my sense of curiosity was strong enough to disregard good manners — at least, occasionally.

At home, i use small easels to keep a couple of photo books open for a few days or weeks, as a manner to engage in a longer dialogue with some of the images. In this section of the Tales, An Open Book, i share glimpses into a book from my small personal collection in the hope of sharing a touch of beauty, inspiration or knowledge.

Ten years ago, i visited an exhibition at the Bibliothèque Nationale de France, in Paris, that was soberly titled ‘Anders Petersen, photographies’. Although i did not really understand the images, i was fascinated — i bought the catalogue. It’s a thick book that does not rest easily on the small easel i have: it inevitably ends up being a wonky arrangement, which might be fitting for a photographer who claims to use « shitty cameras that break all the time » (as i would hear him explain in a quiet voice, one evening at the London Photographers Gallery, a few years later).

« Photography is not about photography. It is about life. »
(Anders Petersen, in a film about him by his photographer friend JH Engström.)

The book covers the career (at the time) of Swedish photographer Anders Petersen, including his famous Café Lehmitz, projects that explored closed spaces (a prison, an elderly nursing home, a psychiatric hospital), and wanderings in which he approaches people very closely, very intimately.

In the text that comes with the DVD of JH Engström’s film on his friend and mentor, Paul Ardenne writes that Petersen

« a le goût de la singularité corsaire, de l'individualité réfractaire, du sujet investi dans un processus non de normalisation sociale mais d'affirmation solitaire, au risque du séparatisme, de l'exclusion et de la stigmatisation »
« has a taste for the corsair-like singularity, the refractory individuality, of a subject invested in a process not of social normalisation but of solitary affirmation, at the risk of separatism, exclusion and stigmatisation. »1

In his first project, Café Lehmitz, he photographed over a long period of time the life of the clientele of a bar in the red-light district of Hamburg: late-night regulars, prostitutes of all ages, outcasts and misfits. Petersen explains that it was a place where he felt that he could be accepted, that he was allowed to be himself.

Anders Petersen has little consideration for social conventions: intrigued by life in all its diverse peculiarity, he seems to respond to an inner need to come very close to the object of his curiosity — when i started browsing the book to write this text, i was reminded of the star in the broken window that had once captivated me.

Another key dimension of his work is that he makes himself an integral part of the situations that he photographs.

« Pour moi, l'instant où je prends la photo concerne aussi la proximité avec moi-même. Je veux m'approcher de l'expérience de la réalité, pas seulement la décrire. Et essayer d'être présent dans cette expérience. Parfois, c'est du gâteau, il suffit de saisir l'appareil photo, et la vie y entre d'un bond, comme un lapin. Tout devient évident. »2
"For me, the moment I take the photo is also about being close to myself. I want to get close to the experience of reality, not just describe it. And to try to be present in that experience. Sometimes it's a piece of cake, all you have to do is grab the camera and life jumps in like a rabbit. Everything becomes obvious.”3

Petersen makes black and white images that are grainy and strongly contrasted. Some of them are really not comfortable, there is something that disturbs and questions — but it’s all real: it is just the darker, maybe the freer side of human beings. It is not appropriate behaviour, for sure, but it is life nonetheless, and to some it can be irresistibly attractive.

There are times when i get caught in impromptu deep conversations with all sorts of strangers; when that happens, i sometimes catch glimpses into the truth and vulnerability of a fellow human being. I like these moments even though i don’t really know how to initiate them. I’ve never explored these situations with a camera. I don’t think i will ever do the sort of work that Anders Petersen does. But over the years his images have stayed with me, like questions that i like to spend time with although i feel no need to answer them.