Robert Bergman: Selected Portraits

Robert Bergman has gone largely unnoticed in the art scene for the past 60 or so years that he has been photographing, but this year his exposure seems to be growing exponentially. His first solo exhibition debuted at the National Gallery in D.C. on October 11, just prior to his opening at PS1 on October 15. Such a new found interest from two big name spaces begs the question: why the sudden interest in a portrait photographer, especially when considering that this body of work was produced over ten years ago, from 1985-1997? Is there something new about his work that warrants the attention?

The current exhibition on view at PS1 has a very minimalist setup. Straightforward and no-frills, the show displays twenty-four brightly colored photographs framed in plain white in a serial fashion. All equal in dimension, 37" x 25", and situated equidistant apart, the pictures fill two rooms with a stark sense of organization. Yet, there is a lack of direction. There are no dates, titles, or explanations to guide the viewer, save the initial background on Bergman visible outside the first room, which explains that he shot "everyday people on the streets of various American cities." Passing by the photographs, the viewer is led by his or her own readings, not by anything provided by the exhibition's detached layout.

The images are presented in a manner that suggests they should speak for themselves; the only information provided for the viewer is that they were shot from 1985-1997 in the United States. Bergman leaves all the portraits displayed as “Untitled.” Without any descriptive reference for the stories behind the subjects, the viewer must rely upon visual clues alone to learn about the subjects, namely their faces. Much like with the strangers we pass everyday on the street, we can decide (or not) if the person is educated, sober, poor, dirty, crazy, pretty--but Bergman provides no answers.

Stylistically, the photographic approach is blunt. Unapologetically close-up and clear, the images are almost hyper realistic because of their grand scale. The larger-than-life-size faces confront the viewer at eye level, whereupon the size and clarity of the images provide no chance of hiding flaws, scars, wrinkles; even dilated pupils are painfully obvious. The shots are either from the neck or waist up and are cropped so closely that they reveal very little, if anything, of the environment of the sitter. Against the white wall and frame, the colors are bright and bold, catching the viewer's eye immediately.

Bergman's subjects are often unpolished and gritty; many appear homeless, haggard, even disfigured. Because they are displayed on such a monumental scale, the subjects seem to invite the viewer to judge them. The range of interpretations is great: some figures appear sad, dirty, proud, or drunk. A woman with scabs dotting her face provokes assumptions of drug use. A man wearing a necklace made of trash suggests that he may be homeless. Initially it may seem that Bergman exploits his often down-and-out subjects with such intimate close-ups. However, he presents his figures with dignity in their illuminating colors and confident positions. Furthermore, he does not divulge anything that the viewer does not determine on his/her own.

Portrait photography has long been the subject of scrutiny regarding the artist’s relationship to his subject. Bergman's photography conjures references to August Sander's earnest prints of his fellow countrymen, but also to more controversial figures like Diane Arbus, whose intimate shots of people on the fringe of society received heavy criticism. There are definite parallels to Arbus' choice to focus primarily on the "unbeautiful." Unlike Arbus, however, Bergman does not deign to label his subjects. He does not brand them freaks or wanderers, fore example. Instead he photographs them all honestly and refuses to classify them. In this sense, they remain complete strangers.

His choice of subject matter--random Americans on the street--has garnered comparison to another Robert: Robert Frank. Bergman began photographing in black and white and made the switch to color film in 1985. This particular series of color photographs reflects a departure from Bergman's earlier, more spontaneous-looking work to more posed compositions. When he began taking portraits of people on the street, his explicit interest lay in depicting strangers and Americans. However, Robert Bergman's images lack the rich contextuality that Frank emphasized in his series The Americas, which is coincidentally currently on display at the Met in honor of the fiftieth anniversary of its publication.

Particularly striking about Bergman’s work (in stark contrast to Frank’s) is that his subjects are not obviously Americans. The subjects' dress and hairstyle do not necessarily have archetypal American characteristics. A quality not found in Frank's very obvious references to America and American society (for example the American flag shows up in several of his photographs), the universality of Bergman's images shies away from overt links to nationality. The ambiguous nature of his photographs seems to celebrate the humanity of mankind, rejecting preconceived notions of country, class, and race.

Edward Steichen once said that "photography's mission is to explain man to man and each to himself. And that is the most complicated thing on earth." Echoing Steichen's sentiments, Bergman seems to understand the inherent difficulty in revealing an individual through the photographic lens, which might account for the lack of contextual information. To accuse Bergman of exploiting his subjects would be shortsighted. He merely presents them in an extremely direct manner and then lets the viewer infer what he/she can. This technical decision emphasizes the mystery and unknown element behind the faces. While we as viewers can invent stories about the subjects, interpret dilated pupils as evidence of drug use or certain facial expressions as crazy, we will never know. These are people captured by chance, passed by, and gone forever. In the end, the timelessness of his images transcend the here and now. In the same way that Robert Frank's portraits are quintessentially representative of 1950s America, Bergman's are hard to place in a location, period, or context.