Ansel Adams

by Mary Street Alinder

  Their major, ongoing argument centered on the relationship of the artist to society. Edward felt that he must keep his distance and live a sheltered life, focusing all his energies on his art. Ansel was forever up to his neck in the business of life, scrambling to make time to concentrate on his own photography. Neither man ever convinced the other of his position.

  Driven by the events of the past year, Ansel now made a large number of new images. His own solo exhibition at the de Young, during February 1932, featured three galleries displaying eighty photographs, on a much greater diversity of subjects than his Smithsonian show of just one year earlier, which had been little more than an extended portrait of the Sierra.24

  In a statement written for the de Young show, Ansel declared that he had two rules: one, the completed image must directly reflect how the subject appeared in the camera; and two, he had to see the finished photograph in his mind before the shutter was released (his concept of visualization).25 This was straight, or pure, photography for Ansel in 1932.

  But this philosophy did not take into account his nagging belief that ultimately an artist must go beyond the obvious reality to communicate the full emotional power of a scene. Just as earlier he had to master photographic technique before he could produce consistently strong images, so now he had to understand the rules of straight photography completely before he could apply them to the making of his own vision.

  Considering the de Young exhibit, a San Francisco reviewer, apparently well versed in the tenets of straight photography (perhaps through Ansel’s own Fortnightly articles), held Ansel to his own gospel and found some of the images to be less than catholic. He accused the photographer of “making studiously arranged compositions of inanimate objects which seem to us to lack a relationship with everyday life that one looks for in photography.”26

  Four months later, in June 1932, the Courvoisier Galleries in San Francisco presented another solo exhibition of Ansel’s photographs. The reviewer for the San Francisco Examiner queried,

  Is photography an art? It certainly is not, if the photographer is not an artist. More than that, it is only art of a lowly genre, if the photographer insists on reading his own moods into Nature.

  Ansell [sic] Adams does not do that. But when the frost etches lovely conceits in the graining of an old tree stump or cleaves the granite into cubistic monoliths, then he is interested and his camera registers his interest in studies which lovers of beauty will prize . . . Adams lets Nature do her own work, and her work and his are both good.27

  Here was evidence that although museums were still dragging their heels about recognizing photography, art critics in most major cities were ready to take it seriously.

  Lloyd Rollins continued his support of photography at the de Young with two subject-oriented competitions, A Showing of Hands and California Trees. Ansel commandeered the hands of friends and family as subjects and photographed his wife’s threading a needle and peeling potatoes.28 This Hands exhibition accounts for the amazing preponderance, in the archives of northern California photographers, of images of hands made in 1932, most of them object lessons in the futility of assigning a creative artist a specific subject.

  The intent of the second exhibition was “to stimulate interest in trees as features of our landscape, to encourage their preservation, and to suggest, via photographic art, their beauty and spiritual appeal.”29 Of the eight hundred photographs submitted, 160 were hung in the de Young from September 21 to October 21, 1932. Edward Weston claimed the hundred-dollar first prize for an image of a Joshua tree, and second prize went to Oakland photographer Alma Lavenson for her Snow Blossoms. Ansel was awarded twenty-five dollars and fourth prize for his Sugar Pine, while seventh (and last) place went to Willard Van Dyke, enrolled at the University of California, Berkeley, and also a student of Edward’s, for his Detail of Madrone. Also exhibiting were Henry Swift and John Paul Edwards, both soon to become associated with the others.30 It is probable that these two competitive shows sorely tried the patience of such photographers as Van Dyke, Weston, and Ansel. His sponsorship of “theme” exhibitions was a strong indication that Rollins did not fully understand their very serious intent.

  With his girlfriend, Mary Jeannette Edwards, another young photography zealot and daughter of John Paul, Willard Van Dyke established a studio in an old converted barn at 683 Brockhurst in Oakland. It quickly became the congregating place for Bay Area photographers. On Saturday, October 15, 1932, Willard and Mary Jeannette invited Ansel, Imogen, Edward, Sonya Noskowiak (Edward’s lover and photographic assistant), John Paul, and Willard’s best friend, Preston Holder, to a party.31

  It may have been that night that Willard photographed a pensive Ansel sitting slumped on a sofa, a coffee cup in one hand and his chin in the other, as he attempted to sober up before his long trip home to San Francisco. With Prohibition still the law of the land, Willard and Mary Jeannette served a lethal drink they called the Five-Star Final, made from the pure grain alcohol they used to dry negatives mixed with the juice from five lemons, water, and a dose of glycerin.32 It was known to pack a wallop.

  Although Edward was acknowledged as the senior member of this bunch, it was Ansel and Willard who insisted that they must take a united stand in favor of straight photography. Willard later remembered that Weston did not want to be listed as a member of the group because he was not a joiner; he consented to stay only after Willard argued that his leaving would be a “slap in your friends’ faces.”33 The strongest statement, they agreed, would be made by their exhibiting together. They talked of renting a space in San Francisco but abandoned the idea after realizing that such a separate venue might undermine Lloyd Rollins.34 Rollins responded by offering the group a show.

  Preston Holder, Willard’s roommate at Berkeley, recalled that the group met only three or four times, on occasions that were probably more social than official. Holder reminisced that at a party at Ansel’s in San Francisco, they determined they must devise a suitable name for the group,

  Willard and I got good and drunk . . . and on the way back to Oakland, I thought of that design, you know the “f” that looks like that Bauhaus stuff and makes very nice graphics. And I said, “Will, that’s what that group should be, f.64, because that’s what you want to stop down to anyway and that’s a good rationale for it, a catchy name and a good symbol.” Willard agreed.35

  In contrast, Willard remembered that he proposed “U.S. 256,” the old system name for f.64 in the new aperture-marking system. He said that Ansel responded, “U.S. 256 is not good, it sounds like a highway.” Willard continued, “He then took a pencil and made a curving ‘f’ followed by the dot and 64. The graphics were beautiful and that was that.”36 At first, it was written “Group f.64,” in the style of the old aperture notation, but that was soon updated to the new notation with its slash, “Group f/64.” To those familiar with Ansel’s handwriting, the f in the Group f/64 exhibition invitation appears nearly identical to his own typical, very musical-looking f.37

  The core group of six photographers decided to invite a few other like minds to join them for the duration of the exhibition, first anointing San Francisco businessman and amateur photographer Henry Swift (who collected prints by some of the others) as a full partner. Edward suggested a small list of names, including Consuelo Kanaga and Alma Lavenson.38 Kanaga, a photojournalist who had found a sponsor in Albert Bender, had made a strong series of portraits of African Americans.39 Bender was also a family friend of Lavenson, whom he had introduced to Kanaga, Weston, and Cunningham, her strongest influence. Lavenson had made a number of graphic compositions of the industrial port of Oakland, a quite suitable f.64 choice.40

  In the end, Kanaga, Lavenson, Weston’s son Brett, and Preston Holder were also invited to participate, as associates, not full members, bringing the total to eleven photographers: seven members and four guests. Although just twenty-one years old, Brett Weston had studied photography with his father for seven years and was already clearly accomp
lished. The weak photographic link was Holder, who made up for his inexperience by pairing his images with his original poems, as well as with his ebullient personality.41

  Partly because he was the only member living in San Francisco, in fact quite close to the de Young, and also due to his high energy, Ansel played a central role in organizing the exhibition itself. His account of cash receipts is recorded in Virginia’s neat hand under the date December 2, 1932, crediting Weston, Cunningham, Edwards, Swift, and Van Dyke with contributing ten dollars each to the Group f.64 deposit.42 (Weston pleaded that Noskowiak be allowed participation without paying her share because he could not spare another ten dollars.) Assuming that the honorable Ansel himself also anted up, six of the full members seem to have shared equally in the expenses, putting up money in service to their cause. Ansel was also responsible for seeing to the exhibition announcements.

  Historically, most avant-garde movements in modern art, including Surrealism, Futurism, and Dadaism, proclaimed themselves with manifestos. So, too, did Group f.64, whose creed was actually nailed to the de Young’s gallery walls43:

  The name of this Group is derived from a diaphragm number of the photographic lens. It signifies to a large extent the qualities of clearness and definition of the photographic image which is an important element in the work of members of this Group . . . The Group will show no work at any time that does not conform to its standards of pure photography. Pure photography is defined as possessing no qualities of technique, composition or idea, derivative of any other art form.44

  Although its content was surely ratified to some extent by the others, the one-page statement was probably written by Ansel and Willard. The type used to print the one existing original draft seems to match that on both Ansel’s and Willard’s contemporaneous typewriters. One small, though critical, style element is different: the manifesto has one and a half spaces between lines and either one or two spaces after each period. These peculiarities are completely consistent with documents produced by Ansel. For his part, Willard invariably used either single or double spaces between lines and always left two spaces at the end of his sentences.

  Moreover, a copy of the manifesto has been found with corrections in Ansel’s hand that were incorporated into the final draft.45 This version contains a number of mistakes that have been x’d out, a frequent Ansel practice. Willard appears to have been a better typist, rarely making mistakes and, when he did, almost never using x’s to cross them out. But perhaps this is evidence of Ansel’s edit of Willard’s draft.

  The manifesto capitalized a number of nouns not normally treated to such emphasis, an affectation Ansel had picked up from his reading of Carpenter, whose influence may also be seen in Ansel’s British spelling of such words as technic (for technique), also adopted by Willard.46 The F in “Group F.64” is capitalized in the manifesto (although not in the invitation), whereas in letters from this period, Willard consistently used a lowercase f, for “f/64.” How Group f.64 was written seems to have been elastic—at times F/64, Group F.64, Group f/64, but most usually Group f.64.

  In a 1955 group interview with Imogen and Dorothea Lange, Ansel was asked, “Who thought [Group f.64] up and gave it the name?” He responded, “It’s usually mixed up, and I think it ought to be cleared up. I remember as early as 1930 trying to get a group together who would function with straight prints . . . I motivated it, Willard Van Dyke clarified it, Edward Weston subscribed to it.”47 When Imogen was asked who had drafted the manifesto, she said, “Ask Ansel. He must have written it. Nobody else would.” Although at another time she swore it had been Willard.48

  The Group f.64 manifesto was a declaration of war on the photographic infidels: the Pictorialists. During a 1983 interview with Ansel, Willard Van Dyke, and the historian Beaumont Newhall, I asked Willard why Group f.64 had been formed.49 He answered, “We had agreed to do our own thing and were surprised at the reaction by the Pictorialists and [William] Mortensen to what we were doing. We didn’t have a sense of gospelizing.”

  At that point Ansel interjected, “I did! I had a sense of mission. A simple, straight print is one of the most beautiful expressions possible.”

  Willard then added, “We were reacting against bad taste. Not all Pictorialists were [bad], but Mortensen . . . was—his work was disgusting.”

  William Mortensen was the outspoken leader of the opposition and the symbol of everything that Group f.64 opposed. Even though they themselves had started out as Pictorialists, Imogen, Edward, and Ansel believed they had evolved into a higher species, photographically speaking. The influential Mortensen taught, published numerous books on technique, and wrote for photographic magazines. Many of his own photographs were dramatizations of historical persons or fictional themes; he depicted Cinderella, for example, as a naked, well-endowed lass perched coyly with crossed legs, dangling her glass slipper from her hand.

  For Ansel, the Group “confirmed my own ideas—seeing other work and ‘seeing’ for the first time. I finally enjoyed and understood Edward Weston. The vibrations of the group increased my understanding and gave me confidence.”50 Willard recalled that as the youngest member, he found it “tremendously satisfying to come to Ansel Adams and Edward Weston and discuss prints—have them give [my work] serious consideration. Then Imogen Cunningham would make a wisecrack that would pare it right down.”51

  Group f.64 was formed not merely in reaction to the Pictorialists, but as a response to the challenge everywhere posed by modern art, as painters, graphic artists, and a handful of Eastern photographers, among them Paul Strand and Charles Sheeler, moved beyond Pictorialism and struck out on their own.52 Group f.64 was an expression of modern art in photography, its aim to marry everyday subject matter to a clear, sharp camera vision rather than to the precise edges of line in painting.

  Group f.64 had two commandments. The first of these held that there was but one God, and its manifestation was detail. The photographic lens could capture minutiae better than any other art form, begging the question, If God dwells in the details, are photographs our best window on God? Ansel would say yes.

  The second commandment admonished, thou shalt not covet any other art by imposing its presence on photography. The last sentence of the manifesto is crucial to an understanding of this second commandment. “Pure” photography did not mean there could be no manipulation whatsoever; some intervention was allowed, even expected, in making negatives and prints, provided that it conformed to a prescribed list of techniques that were judged to be photographic in nature.

  A choice of lens, for example, could be used to alter spatial relations and relative scale, but the soft-focus lens was verboten because it obscured detail and thus violated the first commandment. The tonal contrast of the negative could be enhanced or diminished by different combinations of exposure and development, a concept that would later become the basis of Ansel’s famed Zone System. Dodging and burning during the printing of the image were permitted to subtly lighten or darken local areas of the photograph.

  Filters altered tonal relationships. If the filter’s effect was relatively mild—that is, if it did not serve to transform the scene into a new reality—it was deemed acceptable. According to Group f.64 member John Paul Edwards, “K1 and K2 color filters provide an ample range of color correction for nearly all subjects.”53 The key word here is ample; Edwards clearly believed that excursions further afield, into more dramatic filter effects, were beyond the limits of permissible behavior for the photographic purists of Group f.64.

  Clouds can be separated from their blue backgrounds by means of yellow “K” filters that also reduce atmospheric haze. When a red filter is placed in front of the camera lens, as Ansel did in the case of Monolith, pale skies become intensely black. The use of a blue filter creates the opposite effect, yielding a white sky bleached of all detail. Light- and medium-yellow filters were considered kosher in f.64; red and blue filters were not.54

  In their landmark de Young show, six of the original
gang of seven exhibited nine prints each, Ansel showed ten, and the four invitees, four. Everyone placed a price of ten dollars on each photograph, with the exception of Edward, who asked fifteen. Attempting to show that he could do it all, Ansel selected three portraits, three details, one architectural study, and three landscapes, a bravura display.

  Ansel evidently considered f.64 to be a state of mind, not an unbreakable doctrine. It is unlikely that any of his ten photographs in this exhibit, or very many in his whole lifetime, were actually made with the aperture set at f.64; research has in fact uncovered only a small handful of images by him documented as having been exposed at that setting, whose tiny size requires an extremely long exposure.55

  Three of Ansel’s images from this first Group f.64 exhibition are more important than the other seven. Nevada Fall, Yosemite Valley is a direct expression of the Group f.64 practice of filling the picture space with the object itself. Ansel had been doing this for years, but his earlier photographs of waterfalls were static compositions.56 In this image, Nevada Fall cascades powerfully out of the picture plane and right at the viewer. At one time, Ansel judged this his best landscape photograph.57

  The Golden Gate Before the Bridge is another picture that remains unforgettable.58 Ansel awoke one San Francisco morning in late April 1932 to the sight of billowing white clouds above the Golden Gate. He had just purchased his first eight-by-ten-inch view camera, a Folmer Universal, that used film, not glass plates. Grabbing his new equipment, he drove out toward Land’s End, parked, and then hiked along a trail down to the edge of the cliff, where the panorama of sky, clouds, and ocean played above the horizon of the green hills of Marin County, across the strait.59