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Dorothea Lange: Grab a Hunk of Lightning
Până la Elizabeth Partridge și Dorothea Lange
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Începeți să citiți- Editor:
- Chronicle Books Digital
- Lansat:
- Nov 5, 2013
- ISBN:
- 9781452131962
- Format:
- Carte
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Dorothea Lange: Grab a Hunk of Lightning
Până la Elizabeth Partridge și Dorothea Lange
Descriere
- Editor:
- Chronicle Books Digital
- Lansat:
- Nov 5, 2013
- ISBN:
- 9781452131962
- Format:
- Carte
Despre autor
Legat de Dorothea Lange
Mostră carte
Dorothea Lange - Elizabeth Partridge
FOR ALLYSON L. FEENEY
AMERICAN MASTERS is a production of THIRTEEN for PBS
Creator + Executive Producer: Susan Lacy
Series Producer: Prudence Glass
Supervising Producer: Julie Sacks
Text copyright © 2013 by Elizabeth Partridge.
Photographs copyright © by Dorothea Lange Collection, Oakland Museum of California, the City of Oakland. Gift of Paul S. Taylor, unless otherwise noted.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher.
Page 188 constitutes a continuation of the copyright page.
ISBN 978-1-4521-3196-2
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition under: ISBN: 978–1–4521–2216–8.
Design: Annabelle Gould
Typeset with National by Kris Sowersby
Frontis image: Migrant Mother, 1936
Chronicle Books LLC
680 Second Street
San Francisco, CA 94107
www.chroniclebooks.com
"I believe in living with the camera, and not using the camera. Suddenly, if you are working a lot, it takes over and then you see meaning in everything. You don’t have to push for it. That’s what I mean by the visual life. Very rare."¹
Expenditure to the Last Ditch
MIGRANT MOTHER
Dorothea Lange almost didn’t take her most famous photograph, Migrant Mother. It was early March 1936, the end of a cold, miserable winter. Dorothea had been on the road for nearly a month photographing the desperate living and working conditions of migratory farm workers in California. She was worked out, weary to the bone. She’d packed up her cumbersome camera equipment and was driving north on Highway 101, thoughts of home filling her with relief. As she drove past Nipomo, California, a small handmade sign flashed by, Pea Picker’s Camp.
She kept her foot on the gas pedal.
A year earlier Dorothea had been to Nipomo on her first assignment for the government. She knew conditions for the migrant pea pickers were desperate. She drove on, arguing with herself, Haven’t you plenty of negatives already on the subject? Isn’t this just one more of the same?
³ Twenty miles farther, almost without realizing what she was doing, she made a U-turn and headed back.
Two weeks of sleet and steady rain had caused a rust blight, destroying the pea crop. There was no work, no money to buy food. Dorothea approached the hungry and desperate mother,
⁴ huddled under a torn canvas tent with her children. The family had been living on frozen vegetables they’d gleaned from the fields and birds the children killed. Working quickly, Dorothea made just a few exposures, climbed back in her car, and drove home.
Dorothea knew the starving pea pickers couldn’t wait for someone in Washington, DC to act. They needed help immediately. She developed the negatives of the stranded family, and rushed several photographs to the San Francisco News. Two of her images accompanied an article on March 10th as the federal government rushed twenty thousand pounds of food to the migrants.
The San Francisco News reported Dorothea happened by chance
to be at Nipomo.⁵ While it’s clearly important that Dorothea was heading up Highway 101 at just that moment, chance played only a small part. Carefully honed skills enabled her to see
the photograph with her strong eye for composition, and a heart guided by compassion. Equally important was the personal drive that caused her to turn around on the highway and head back to the camp: her entire life, Dorothea would always ignore rough working conditions, pushing herself past exhaustion, past debilitating health problems. You can’t deny what you must do, no matter what it costs. And with me it was always expenditure to the last ditch. I know the last ditch. I’ve lived on the last ditch.
⁶
I was following instinct, not reason; I drove into that wet and soggy camp and parked my car like a homing pigeon.
²
Destitute Pea Pickers in California. Mother of Seven Children. Age Thirty-Two.
Nipomo, San Luis Obispo County, California, 1936
CHILDHOOD
Two tragedies in Dorothea’s childhood stamped their indelible marks on her, and shattered the respectability her family had carefully cultivated from the moment they disembarked from steerage in the United States. In the late 1850s, Dorothea’s grandparents had made the arduous ocean voyage from Germany, sleeping below deck in rough bunk beds, eating food they’d carefully packed. Like thousands of other German immigrants they ventured no farther than Hoboken, New Jersey. They immigrated with many of their brothers and sisters, skilled engravers, musicians, teachers, and seamstresses. Everyone worked hard, and soon steerage was a tight-lipped secret. By the time Dorothea’s parents married in 1894, both of their families were part of the thriving middle-class German enclave in Hoboken. Her father, Henry Nutzhorn, was a partner in a small law firm, and her mother, Joan Lange Nutzhorn, a soloist with the church choir. They rented a large, stately brownstone, and hired a maid to take care of the housework.
Dorothea and Martin
Hoboken, New Jersey, c. 1905, Photographer Unknown
Dorothea was born at home on May 26, 1895. Six years later, her younger brother Martin was born. Dorothea claimed she had been born tired. I’ve been tired all my life, every day of my life. I remember when I was only maybe ten years old being as tired as a human being could be, and wishing that I could sleep forever just because I was so tired.
⁷ Her weariness may not have started at birth, but might have been a legacy of the polio she contracted when she was seven, in the summer of 1902.
The virus attacked the nerves in Dorothea’s right leg, weakening muscles, and tightening tendons. With no way of knowing how it spread, and no cure available, frightened neighbors shunned both patients and their families. Patients were isolated, their clothing and toys burned. When Dorothea’s fever finally broke and the crisis
was over, her damaged right leg forced her to walk with a rolling gait, dropping her shoulder slightly, and pulling her leg forward.
Despite public health knowledge to the contrary, polio was considered a lower- class disease, associated with poverty, filth, and crowding. With the illness came shame. When they went on doctor visits, Dorothea felt that her mother’s respect for the doctor’s authority veered on obsequiousness. And if they spotted people they knew on the street, Joan insisted, "now walk