TEXTS ON WILLIAM ROPP'S PHOTOGRAPHY



Les enfants du paradis de William Ropp

Le discret Nancéen rassemble dans un livre
soixante-cinq portraits de garçons et filles songeurs.

Par Brigitte OLLIER, Liberation, 22 septembre 2004. 


Children est le deuxième livre de William Ropp, 40 ans, photographe discreet vivant à Nancy. Pendant quatre ans, dans toute la France, il a portraituré 65 enfants, autant de garçons que de filles entre 6 et 12 ans et tous ont eu l'autorisation de leurs parents. Comment les a-t-il choisis ? «Je ne suis pas intéressé par la génération excitée à la vidéo et incapable de rester en place; moi, j'aime les enfants songeurs, très intérieurs, ils ont en commun la même gravité.» Il parle aussi de cet «espace émotionnel» qui s'épanouit mystérieusement autour de chaque visage, loin des sourires lénifiants.

WILLIAM ROPP  (Version Française)

When I began photographing children a few years ago, I never imagined that I would still be doing so to this day. From the very first sittings, I decided toapporach portrait sessions with children in the same manner as I worked with my usual adult models - with my camera firmly fixed to a tripo, and in absolute darkness. Then leaving my subjects to themselves, I ask nothing more of them than that they not move too much. And so begins what some might call the "dance of light"', a sort of divine rite, a primitive calling foth of the God Photon, with a little help from my more than ffiy-year-old Czech-made flashlight. I have never suggested to a child (nor has it ever been necessary to do so) that he or she express any particular feeling. The protective cocoon of darkness prompts the child, like the seeker of gold being led to the bottom of the mine, to plunge deeply within him) or herself, and to produce, ineluctably, these faces we see, these faces marked with such gravity. The miracle we can perceive in some of the portraits grows out of the richt internal life of the children themselves. I believe that these children are neither sad nor cheerful, but that they are looking deeply into themselves, beginning their journey in life, and gazing, like Narcissus, into the double mirror of their delightful souls. If my vision of Childhood is disturbing to some viewers, it is surely because it represents the exact opposite of what they would like to see: The spectacle of the carefree invulnerability of childhood, complete with a parade of reassuring smiles - the soothing image of the affable littte creature disconnected from the malevolent adult world. If a had to frame my own childhood in one single picture, I would say, without the slightest hesitation, that his image would be full of seriousness; it would  be as serious as the future full of hopes and doubts, fears and questions, that I sensed looming toward me from off in the distance. The typical ambivalence in reaction to my work can be summed up in an anecdote about the photograph of the little girl leaning of her father's arm.

At an exhibition, an older man approached me to offer his congratulations: 'I like your view of childhood very much', he told me (Compliments and insults alike make me uncomfortable; I never know by what clever turn I might be able to escape from them. Generally, I respond with a silly remark along the lines of: 'I'm fond of your tie , too'. But, one day, in response to such a comment, someone mailed me an impossible shirt with yellow dots...). The gentleman continued: 'Still, to me, the image of the face of the child leaning against the arm is extremely distressing'" His remark left me speechless. At the end of the sitting, the little girl had confided to me that she had felt very happy and very safe, letting herself relax against her father's protective arm. When everything has been hashed and rehashed, when concepts, the assassins of mystery, have spewed out preemptive definitions, the viewer is left with nothing but unspeakable boredom. It is the dichotomies among the feelings of the model, the intentions of the artist and the projections of the viewer - it is this very ambivalence that forms, in my opinion, the essence and the richness of art.

Willim Ropp (February 2004).
 

RALPH GIBSON

My thoughts on these photographs turn immediately to memories... Memories of my own childhood and that unique emotional space that Wiliam's photographs have absolutely defined.
I know these children.... do I know these children?... yes, surely because the photograph is proof that they are there, that maybe I was there at another time that exists just outside the borders of the photograph.
This is the purest of photographic experiences. Only the eyes of a poet can enable us to exist in several time dimensions simultaneously.
Where are these children now? Maybe they are even younger than before... this is how I feel looking at these photographs.


Ralph Gibson, New York Jan.16, 2004

FRANCK HORVAT

Dear William,

A certain number of your photographs make me stop and think. Because they show me something that I hadn’t known. Or (to say it another way) because after having seen them, I am not quite the same as before. I believe that it is this same criterion that makes me say : I like a film (or a book or a painting or a person). It’s difficult to define this something with words (if we could say it with words, there would be no need to photograph it). It is something mysterious, vague, ambivalent, that you are always looking for and that often you find –undoubtedly because it corresponds to a part of your being.. This something is, in Barthes terminology, the studium, which would be, if I understand it correctly, the sum of research and techniques, which leads up to the punctum. In the case of your photographs, this would be your castings, the way you direct your actors, your lighting, your choice of film or paper. What seems useful to me in this concept is the complementary nature of the components : your ambivalences would never succeed without your techniques. And your techniques, without these ambivalences would remain techniques (which is perhaps the case of certain photographs which touch me less : magnus aliquando dormitat Homerus).
All of this to explain (to myself first of all) why I find your pictures beautiful, (in the same way as I find beautiful some monstruous assemblages by Joël-Peter Wilkin, and magnificent Rembrandt’s ‘The Slaughtered Ox’) : because your appropriate use of punctum and studium allows me to expand my idea of what is beautiful. It is in this way, that after having looked at your images, I feel a little different than I was before.

Best wishes,

Franck Horvat


JAN SAUDEK

It was a long time ago – yes, it was in the last century. I saw those magnificent pictures – and I was disquieted, irritated, touched – almost a little unnerved. I have looked around in vain – with a miserable desire to glean some explanation, a guide…..…and yet nobody came. I have pondered, deeply, whether these photographs might even be from the century before last (meaning the nineteenth century)– I didn't know where to place them – they could not be pigeonholed. So I studied them over and over again – to find an explanation. Eyes gazed from these pictures, watched me peacefully though beseechingly: their look burned into my brain asking countless questions - squirming under that pursuant gaze I looked away – and yet I couldn't help but look again: the people, these human beings watched me ceaselessly and their clear, bright eyes unmoved. Questions hung motionless, persistent in the charged air. I felt as though I had been taken by surprise, naked…My common, unswerving approach had received a battering. And I asked myself again: are these photographs from the 19th century? Had these people ever lived? Is there a message, a mission from our world? Those eyes! Especially the eyes of the children: clear, cold, omniscient – question follows question – but there is no answer. Is it art or are my senses deluded? I am certain of one thing: if it wasn't' art I would not be considering it so deeply. Such a multitude of questions! And then I saw the light: Art is not here to answer questions – it is here to pose them. Above all I thought of a comparison with the great Balthus – why, those children are seemingly adults, old as the world – and what is more: the images are not mere illusions, chimeras or phantoms; it is us, our childhood is captured in each of these photographs like a whole tree in a mere seed –everything is there: past and future – but above all our presence, a presence full of doubts and loss of faith. But there is also a deep belief that a man is good, that he hasn't changed, languished and become corrupted by the course of centuries – and above all there is a message, tidings that we humans are beautiful – and that life is worth living. I have remembered that. 

After many years I met William. In a moment I saw that the artist doesn't always have to be identified with his work: he was a normal healthy man, happy and well-meaning – and see: at the same  time he is gifted with the ability to show things and express thoughts hidden, deep down in the darkest recesses of our souls. Oh – mysterious currents of subconscious! France, that beautiful country which gave not a few good things to the world! And Monsieur William Ropp and his work is one of them –without doubt.

Jan Saudek

WILLIAM ROPP (Version Française)

Lorsqu’il y a quelques années j’ai commencé ce travail photographique sur les enfants, j’étais loin de penser que je le poursuivrais jusqu’à aujourd’hui. Dès les premières séances j’ai décidé d’aborder le portrait avec eux de la manière dont je travaille avec mes modèles habituels ; l’appareil photographique solidement campé sur son trépied et dans l’obscurité la plus totale. Là, je les laisse livrés à eux-mêmes avec pour seule recommandation de ne point trop bouger. Commence alors ce que d’aucun appelle la « danse de la lumière » sorte de rite propitiatoire, invocation barbare du dieu Photon, exécutée à l’aide de ma plus que cinquantenaire lampe de poche à l’origine Tchèque. Je n’ai jamais suggéré (et cela n’a jamais été nécessaire) à un enfant d’exprimer un quelconque sentiment ; le cocon protecteur de l’obscurité seule l’incite, pareil au prospecteur poussé vers le fond de la mine, à descendre en lui-même et à restituer ce visage emprunt de gravité. C’est donc de la richesse de leurs vies intérieures que nous vient le miracle de certain de ces portraits. Je crois que ces enfants ne sont ni tristes, ni gais, mais qu’ils regardent profondément en eux-mêmes ; Narcisses en devenir penchés vers le miroir sans tain de leurs âmes charmantes.
Si cette vision de l’enfance peut perturber certaines personnes, c’est qu’elle se situe à l’opposé même de ce qu’elles voudraient se voir proposer : le spectacle de l’insouciante invulnérabilité de l’enfance et son cortège de sourires rassurants ; image lénifiante du petit être affable déconnecté du monde malveillant des adultes. Si je devais synthétiser ma propre enfance au travers une image, elle serait à n’en point douter, empreinte de sérieux à l’instar de cet avenir plein d’espoirs et de doutes, de peurs et de questionnements que je sentais poindre au loin. L’exemple de l’image de cette petite fille reposant sur le bras de son père semble à elle seule résumer toute l’ambiguïté ressenti face à ce travail :

Récemment, lors d’un vernissage, un Monsieur d’un âge certain vint vers moi pour me féliciter : « Jaime beaucoup votre perception de l’enfance », me dit-il. (Les compliments comme les insultes ont le don de me mettre mal à l’aise ; je ne sais jamais par quelle pirouette m’en sortir. Je réplique généralement par quelques phrases ineptes du genre : « votre cravate aussi me plaît beaucoup ». Un jour d’ailleurs, suite à ce genre de réflexion, je reçus par la poste une invraisemblable chemise jaune à pois…) Et il continua : « Cependant l’image du visage de cette enfant posé sur ce bras est pour moi excessivement angoissante». Sa réflexion me laissa sans voix. Cette petite fille m’avait confié à l’issue de la séance de pose quel bonheur sécurisant elle avait éprouvé à se laisser ainsi aller sur le bras protecteur de son père. Cette dichotomie entre le ressenti du modèle, la volonté de l’artiste et la perception du spectateur, résume à elle seule toute l’ambivalence qui fait à mes yeux la richesse de l’art. Lorsque tout a été pré mâché et que les concepts, assassins du mystère, ont déglutis leurs définitions péremptoires, il ne reste plus au spectateur qu’un indicible ennui.

William Ropp, Février 2004

 

We warmly recommend William Ropp's newest photobook 'Children':

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