In 1911, a 35-year-old man decides to document his century: “the portrait is your mirror. No, it’s more: it’s you”.
The first street photographer, August Sander captures every man: the Farmer, the Artist, the Craftsman. Inordinate scale, immeasurable influence – 50 years, 7 volumes, 50 portfolios, 600 pictures.
Always in black and white, his portraits strike by their brutal honesty. Photography does not show the truth, it is the truth. Asceticism of the work, asceticism of the dress.
Worries, gestures, habits: the short leg of a pair of trousers suggests the fear of mud, the crease of a shirt, an artist’s poverty.
Young men’s hats, not yet dented; the crease near the crotch of the cyclists’ trousers: wear and tear; pianist Max van de Sandt’s high collar: performance.
Weighed down by pockets full of ointments, he pharmacist’s end-on-end suit and its drooping lapels; practical for demanding gestures, the farmer’s wide armhole, Helene Abelen’s white sarouel: androgynous absolute.
The embarrassment of the young businessman, forced to hold his hands due to the height of his coat; the high-school student’s nonchalance, hand deep in his patch pockets; the height of the Bohemian’s waist and the weather-beaten spacing of his stripe.
Arid and appealing, August Sander’s work does not show its time, it is its time.
Farmer. 1913.
Gypsy. 1930.
High-School Student. 1926.
Industrial Magnate. 1927.
Painter’s Wife. 1926.
Pharmacist. 1930.
The Pianist.
Three Farmers on their Way to a Dance. 1914.
The Rite of Spring. 1975.
Young Businessman. 1927.
Young Farmers. 1926.
- THE MEN OF MODIANO
«Writer of memory, Patrick Modiano is also the writer of fabrics.» - THE MEN OF JEAN-LUC GODARD
« the aesthetics described as “French Mod”: extensive collars on structured shirts, a bit of flair here and a touch of paisley there. » - TRUCKER JACKET
« from being synonymous with rebellion, exemplified within the punk scene and anarchist movements to symbolizing freedom and unity » - AUGUST SANDER: PEOPLE OF THE TWENTIETH CENTURY
« the portrait is your mirror. No, it’s more: it’s you – August Sander »