Henri Cartier-Bresson (1908-2004)
All photographers, when conditions allow, take more than one photo of the same subject, because in photography the correction of each shot can only be another similar capture. After the stressful process of shooting comes the calm, yet equally difficult, process of reflection, when the photographer becomes a critical observer of their work.
If the shots capture exactly the same subject, the photographer must choose the one that, in their opinion, best represents their view of both the subject and photography in general. Even if there are more noteworthy - possibly equivalent - photos, they must focus their interest (and that of the viewers) on one of them, because otherwise the interest is divided and weakened, and the most mediocre photo absorbs the strongest one. There must be a sense that each photograph is always the result of a unique, unsurpassable, and charismatic click. A click that is completed through the photographer's critical thought.
Henri Cartier-Bresson had long decided on the photo with the smiling faces of children in the ruins (and rightly so). We knew and loved this photo. However, the ambition of curators never leaves the great artists in peace. This great photographer, with many years behind him, no longer felt the need to protect his photos and choices and allowed an ambitious newcomer to sift through his archive in search of unknown and never-before-selected photos. Thus, we were introduced to the second photo of the children in the ruins, undoubtedly taken at the same moment, possibly along with several others. The curiosity of the art lover, which can reach the level of gossip, justifies such an action to some extent, as does the curiosity of the historian satisfied by the study of preparatory or other auxiliary actions. However, no curiosity can replace the artistic process, which is dominated by the photographer, upon whose absolute judgment rests the choice of the best shot.
The only contribution of this particular curator is limited to the educational example he gave us by revealing the second photo. Indirectly explaining, without it necessarily being his intention, how right the photographer was to settle on the already known photo. In the photo where disability, poverty, and ruins on one side, and the universal joy and spontaneous laughter of all the children on the other, create an explosive contrast and unleash a vital force. In the photo where the ruins serve as a geometric frame for the image and as a theatrical stage for the events. In the photo where the photographer-observer seems merely a non-interfering discoverer. On the other hand, stands the "new" photo, which in a plainly obvious way attempts to add interest to the image and to connect its elements through its geometric design. The photographer betrays his presence and intervention, as if confessing his inability to handle the inherent elements of the image. The children look at him, confirming his presence and underscoring his effort. Poverty and ruins are no longer just simple and unambiguous elements detached from reality, but also utterly incapable of being transformed into photographic events. This photo has experienced structural and decorative elements, but lacks a reason for existence and an internal dialogue.
Thus, it is proven once again that photography is a series of successive choices through which the artistic language and proposition of the photographer are shaped and expressed. Substituting their will at any stage of the artistic process does not necessarily clarify or enrich their language, and it might even distort it.
Plato Rivellis