Weegee: Serial Photographer dramatizes the life and work of Arthur Fellig, the prolific and unscrupulous photographer whose work once covered the pages of New York City newspapers.
Next time you’re walking through the East Village, take a moment to look up at the skies over Tompkins Square Park. You might just spot Anton van Dalen’s flock of snow-white pigeons. The artist, who first learned to rear the birds at the age of twelve, is one of the few remaining pigeon keepers in Lower Manhattan.
The New York PM Daily only lasted from 1940 to 1948, but in its short run it served as a vital progressive voice in New York City and promoted groundbreaking photography to accompany its stories.
Coney Island has a history as dizzying as any of the roller coasters, carousels, sideshows, and other frenetic attractions that have operated on its piece of Brooklyn shore.
Walking through In the Studio: Photographs, a three-part show organized by Peter Galassi, former Chief Curator of Photography at New York’s Museum of Modern Art, and spread over several floors of the Gagosian empire on Madison Avenue, the underlying themes of accumulation, storage, labeling, and just plain looking remind us how artists often surround themselves with visual repertories.
In the gritty, sleepless streets of mid-century New York, Weegee photographed the cars crumpled like accordions, bodies dripping blood encircled by gawkers, and night cops hunched over the latest crime scene.
Weegee, the New York tabloid photographer, who documented street life in the “naked city” in the 1930s and 40s, had an eye for the asymmetrical. His principle subject was public mayhem: the crime and criminals that enacted their traumatic narratives in public.
Tom Sanford and Graham Preston’s latest project, “Saints of the Lower East Side” (2012), remembers “when,” or more precisely marches out some of the progressive history of an area that has been mostly reduced to cool tshirts from a bygone era.
“Everybody ought to go careful in a city like this,” Joseph Cotten’s character Holly Martins is warned in The Third Man, the classic 1949 film noir that takes place in a war fractured Vienna. The line came into my head while viewing the photographs in Weegee: Murder is My Business at the International Center of Photography (ICP), where corpse after splayed corpse was flashbulb lit on the New York streets, crowds watching in curiousity or strange amusement while lantern-jawed police officers and a fedora-wearing photographer analyzed the scene.