Bobby Fischer - Philippe Halsman 1967

Often I have written here that my grandmother, mother, Rosemary, me and my eldest daughter Alexandra have been teachers. It must be a family trait that makes us take special care when we explain stuff. Why is my portrait of British film director John Boorman below. I explain it at the end.

John Boorman - 1987 - Alex Waterhouse-Hayward

At my 81 years, I believe that I have lots of useful information in my head that somehow most will remain in there until I meet my oblivion.

Many of my blogs are exploration of conveying to others what is in my head and at the same time my doubts. Any teacher that insists that there is only one way to knowledge I think are suspect.

As an example, how is one (particularly me as I am a portrait photographer) to define what is a portrait and what is a perfect portrait?

What follows might have been a photography class that I would have given on the theme “What makes a good portrait?”

I will diverge here to mention my favourite photographer of all time. It was Latvian-born Philippe Halsman who shot more than 100 Life Magazine covers when the magazine had no competition.

In Spanish we have a verb that does not exist in English. It is retratar (to take a portrait) and retrato is a portrait be it a painting or a photograph. Retrato comes from the Latin and its root is retractus which means to take out.  In the modern digital parlance of to capture it might mean to take out from the person a humanity that defines the person as seen by the portrait taker and  by what the person whose portrait is being taken might allow to be seen.

But when you see Halsman’s 1967 portrait of US chess master Bobby Fischer I must explain that to take out is to take out what is not necessary in the photograph or painting. Only the essence of the person must remain. For me the idea of Plato's essences is always in my mind when I shoot my portraits.

For many years this portrait was not visible in the internet and even now it is almost impossible to download the image. What you see here is my scan from my book Halsman – Portraits -1983

Of the portrait this is what Halsman wrote (and he does include the word essence):

I have always been interested in chess, and followed the career of Bobby Fischer with great interest. While still in his teens he defeated the greatest American chess players. Later he became the temperamental terror of international tournaments with his special demands, passionate accusations, and steadfast refusals to play on Saturdays.

I brought my chessboard to my studio, put it on a table, and got my lights ready. The doorbell rang, and a sharply dressed young man in a light-blue suit entered. He had brought with him a darker suit and asked me whether I preferred it. “Yes, I do,” I answered. “And since I won’t photograph more than your face and shoulders, you need only change your jacket.”

When Fischer started to take off his trousers, I reminded him of my remark, but he overruled my objection. However, when I saw him unlacing his shoes I became more insistent. “Bobby, I will only photograph your face!” Stubbornly, Bobby took of his shoes and changed his socks.

Since as a chess player I was obviously in his class, nothing that I could think of saying interested him. But he willingly followed my instructions when I asked him to bend over the chessboard.

However, the many chess pieces in front of his face disturbed me. I removed all but two and made another set of exposures. Still I was not satisfied. I did not feel I had captured [that word!] the essence of chess; the black and white dividing the board and the pieces, and the rest which take place in the brain of the player.

I removed the remaining chess pieces and left the empty board in front of Bobby.

Then I lit his face from the left only, making that side almost white and the right almost black. I put a white background behind the dark side and a black background behind the light side. Now the face, the background, and the board were divided into alternative black and white shapes.

In the meantime Fischer had grown more and more impatient. Although I explained every change, he either did not understand them or did not think them important. I had to beg him to stay for the last shot.

The moment it was over he ran behind the scree to remove his jacket, trousers and socks, and to put on his light-blue outfit. Then he bid me goodbye, visibly relieved to have finally escaped from the clutches of a maniac photographer. 

Anybody who has gotten this far might wonder why Boorman's portrait is here. Before I took that portrait I was immersed in my obsession with the photographs of Hollywood great George Hurrell. I decided to abandon it all and go on my own. I see many mistakes and odd lights on his face. And yet I  believe it is a very good portrait. Why? There is nobody in class to answer that question.