Henri CARTIER-BRESSON. Interviews and Conversations 1951-1998. Aperture. 2017

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Henri Cartier-Bresson









































































Henri Cartier-Bresson

Inter views Intervie ws and an d Conversati Con versations ons 1951–1998

Edited and with a foreword by by Clément Chéroux and Julie Jones





































Table of Contents Foreword Clément Chéroux and Julie Jones

6

A Reporter . . .

9

Interview with Daniel Masclet (1951) Photography Is Very Difficult

15

Interview with Richard L. Simon (ca. 1952) Conversation

31

Interview with Byron Dobell (1957) To Seize Se ize Life L ife

41

Interview Inter view with Yvonne Baby (1961 (1961)) It Jumps Out of You

49

Interview with Sheila Turner-Seed (1973) Only Geometricians Geometri cians May Enter

Interview with Yves Bourde (1974)

59





































The Main Thing Is Looking

69

Interview with Alain Desvergnes (1979) The Hard Pleasure of Photography

87

Interview with Gilles A. Tiberghien (198 (1986) 6) An Endless Endl ess Play

99

Interview with Gilles Mora (1986) Photographing Is Nothing, Looking Is Everything Everything!!

1111 11

Interview with Philippe Boegner (1989) We Always Talk Too Much

127

Conversation with Pierre Assouline (1994) Proust Questionnaire

143

Henri Cartier Cartier-Bresso -Bressonn (1998) Endnotes Selected Bibliography Credits

146 153 159







































Foreword Henri Cartier Car tier-Bresson -Bresson often often defined himself as a visual person. “I watch, watch, watch. I understand things through my eyes,” he wrote in 1963.1 Th Throughou roughoutt his life, l ife, his preferred preferred language la nguage was the image. He did take a lot of notes during his reporting and kept a constant correspondence with his family fa mily,, but in the t he end he wrote little about his own photographic practice. In the books published during his lifetime, there are only four or five texts in his hand. He preferred to give his writer friends the task of L’’ im imagi agina naire ire d ’aprè ’aprèss natu n ature/ re/Th Thee putting words to his images. L Mind’s Min d’s Eye, a collection of his prefaces and articles, published by Éditions Fata Morgana in 1996 (and by Aperture in 1999), is a thin volume containing no more than twenty-five short texts. 2 Much more than in these few writings, it is in fact in his interviews that Cartier-Bresson’s liveliest thinking can be found. It is the one place where the photographer has indeed not been sparing with his words. Crowned as he was with the prestige of his exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art in New York in 1947, holding throughout the second half of the twentieth century a prominent position in the world of photography, a standard-bearer of the artistic recognition of the medium in France, Cartier-Bresson was often sought after by journalists or specialists. This book brings together twelve interviews intervie ws made between 1951 1951 and 1998, 199 8, the period during whic whichh the photographer most benefited from media attention.





































comments, changes his mind, sometimes contradicts himself. The image that the interviews give of Cartier-Bresson is not frozen in legend, but on the contrary, alive and kicking. —Clément Chéroux and Julie Jones senior curator in the department departm ent of photography at the Clément Chéroux is the senior San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. Art . Previously, he served as the th e chief curator of photography photog raphy at the Musée Nation Na tional al d’Art d’Ar t Moderne Moder ne at the th e Centre Cent re Pompidou, Pompid ou, Paris. Par is.

Julie Jones holds a PhD in contemporary con temporary art history from Pantheon-Sorbonne Pantheon-Sorbonne University and is the assistant curator in the photography phot ography department of the Musée National Natio nal d’Art d ’Art Modern Mod ernee at the Centre C entre Pompidou Pom pidou,, Paris. Pari s.









































































A Rep Repo orter

.

Inter view Intervie w with Daniel Masclet (1951 951))

.

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Noo n . . . Here I am Noon a m at a t Car C artitier’s, er’s, at hi hiss hom h ome: e: I lea leapt pt the there re whe w henn I heard h eard tha thatt he h e was w as goin goingg (rare luck) lu ck) to fin finally ally sp spen endd a few day dayss in Paris, between two or three treks to Java, Germany, or Mexico. Cartier-Bresson was there and the two of us chatted. What about? Butt pho Bu p hotog tography, raphy, of cou course rse..

Henri Cartier Car tier-Bresso -Bresson: n: Of course photography photography is a means of expression, like music or poetry. It is how I express myself; it’s also my trade. But in addition, it is what gives us the means, through our images, to bear witness . . . we, the photojournalists.

Daniel Masclet: International reporters . . . If you wish! We reporters, we focus less on the aesthetics of the print itself—quality itself—qual ity,, tone, depth, depth, texture, and so on—than on the image, where life surges surges first, fir st, before aesthetics. aesthetics. In short, our final fi nal image is the printed one. Although our prints are beautiful and perfectly composed (and so they’d better be), this does not make them pictures for salons. First of all, an exhibition print does not need words, just a title, while ours have a commentary, a “caption,” which is not quite an explanatory text, but a verbal context for the picture , which frames it . . . and it is for us to write it, so that the meaning between image and text can match. What we write is about the image, but the image is not made for the text. Robert Capa works this way, I do myself, so do Weegee and others. . . . You are onlookers: the world “acts” for you.







































We agree. ag ree. But let’s let’s see: what is i s your most importa i mportant nt subject? Man. Man and a nd his life, so brief, so frail, so threatened. The focus of great artists—like ar tists—like my friends [Edward] Weston, or Paul Paul Strand St rand or [Ansel]l] Adams—with great [Anse g reat talent, is more on the natural, geological element, on landscape, on monuments. My main concern is, almost exclusively, man. I go for the most urgent. Landscapes have eternity going for them. This human being, of course, I do not separate him arbitrarily from his environment, I do not detach him from his habitat: I am a m a reporter, repor ter, not a studio photographer. photographer. But the exterior (orr interior) where a man, my subject, lives and acts, is to me only (o significant cant backdrop ba ckdrop, if you will. I use this backdrop to locate my a signifi actors, give them their importance, treat them with the respect they are due. And my method is based on respect, which reality also possesses: no noise, no personal ostentation, be invisible, as far as possible, possibl e, do not “prepare” anything, do not “arrange” anything, just stealthily,,4 so as not to disturb di sturb the water. be there, arrive quietly, stealthily So natu n atura rall ly ly,, no fl as ash! h! Oh, definitely no flash! That is not the light of life. I never use it, I do not want to use it. Let us remain within the real, the authentic! Because authenticity is perhaps the greatest virtue of Photography.





































Salon photographs and Pictorialist photographs is that they often possess a beautiful form, but so empty, so hollow. . . .

A carafe without water . . . Yes, but the content—so important—must be presented graphically, precisely in order not to be diminished, damaged, by poor form. The perfec per fectt union (and naturally natural ly instinctive) of form and content, this is the . . . . . . the heart hea rt of the problem! pr oblem! Bravo. Bravo. We We need only to look at your your pictures picture s to see—if see—i f one is a bit of of a connoisseur connoisseur— — their surprising surprisin g structure structure, bui built lt with planes of almost geometric lines of force and proportions. And I believe that you are, along with w ith Weston Weston and an d some others, one of the few photographers photographers who prohibit cropping their images ima ges when they are reproduced. How right you are with these artistic arti stic standards! And An d how desirable desirable it would be for for all al l newspaper news paper and magazi magazine ne editors not to thoughtlessly crop works that have been carefully weighed and balanced, where each each part—ev part— even en the most apparently apparently insigni insig nificant— ficant— plays a role within the whole, and contributes a





































Now, my friend Cart Now, Cartier ier,, let’s let’s talk ta lk a bit b it about techniq tech nique. ue. I know you have have used use d the Leica L eica since you started. Do you still use u se it? it? Which W hich lenses? lenses? Which Wh ich apertures? apertures? I have never given up the Leica; every time I tried something else I always went back to it. I am not saying that it would be the same for someone else. But for me, this is the camera . It is literally a visual extension of my eye . . . its grip, tight against my forehead, its “swing” when I swivel my sight to one side or the other, gives me the feeling of being the referee in a game unfolding before me; I have to seize its atmosphere at a hundredth of a second. My shooting technique is an instinctive reaction. Naturally, I take advantage of the possibilities of different lenses, but I don’t don’t carry car ry a suitcase full of them: them: an Elmar Elmar 50 mm, a wide-angle 35 mm, and an 85 mm—these are my tools, with, of course, the latest, the f/1.5, for night photography. I take advantage of these various depths, I open or close the shutter, or I leave a full aperture: it depends on my needs. I like my pictures to be sharp, or rather, acute . . . That being more a style than a technique. . . . Too many photographers pay more attention to technique and forget style, which is much more important. importa nt. I have never never run r un a “studio. “studio.”” And when I make a portrait, port rait, I do not “pose” my subject, subject, I observe obser ve and I press the shutter when the character surges forth.









































































Photography Is Very Difficult

Inter view Intervie w with Richard Ric hard L L.. Simon Simon (ca ca.. 1952) 1952)







































Richard L. Simon:5 In the t he foreword foreword to your text,6 discussing your backgrou back ground, nd, you say your first camera ca mera was a [Koda [ Kodakk] Box Brownie. How old were you when you got it? Henri Cartier Ca rtier-Bresson: -Bresson: Between Between fourteen and fifteen. Did you start developing developing your own pictures immed i mmediately iately?? No, I sent them out to what you call “the corner drugstore” and we call le marchand de couleurs. How long before you you became dissatisfied dissati sfied with w ith these results? resu lts? Oh, you must understand that I was not a real camera fan. I just happened to have this camera, and I took it along on picnics, vacations, vacati ons, those sorts of things. How many years yea rs after a fter (tha thatt fi rst Box Brownie) Brow nie) was it before b efore





































period, I met people who had prints by [Eugène] Atget. 7 It interested me very much, his work. I was impressed. It was a rich period for Art (in general). general). [ . . . ] It was during that period that I took the pictures of the people in Dieppe.

But how did it really start, you and photography? Ah, I remember how how it all started. sta rted. I had two younger sisters. sisters. I was always teasing them. To keep me from doing this, my mother took me to concerts. Musi Musicc interested me, and naturally natu rally it led me to other fields, fields, such as art ar t and literature. While I was studying, and supposed to go into my father’s business, I failed fa iled my baccalaureate because I was so busy studying painting, and reading everything I could find. For the picture pictur e in Dieppe, D ieppe, did you do your own developin developingg





































But then you kept kept on working workin g with the t he 2¼ by 3¼? Yes, a little, but I was preoccupied with painting. Even in the army, I received a special leave to design our squadron emblem (I was in the air force). It was sort of a duck wearing boots. At that time I was only interested in painting. I studied with André Lhote for two years. With painting, you must work at it every day, every day. Photography—you can take a picture any time. [ . . . ] How did d id you get your you r fi rs rstt Leica? L eica? At the time of my military service, I met Harry Crosby and became friendly with him. He knew k new Peter Peter Powel, Powel, and Po Powel wel had prints by Atget. Powel Powel was a fine fi ne photographer. photographer. About Ab out that time, too, to o, I saw portraits by Man Ray, and then I started looking at photography more closely. Then I bought a view camera (no shutter, just a lens cap).. [Giorgio] cap) [Giorgio] de Chirico’s Chirico’s paintings paintin gs impressed me. I began taking t aking





































of his illness. I sent a runner fifty miles to find another white man, in the village of Béréby, and I moved there. This man, Ginestière, had a steam engine for oil extraction, but it was not working. It was the Great Depression. I stayed with him for many months and we had sic], crocodiles, a little business of hunting at night, for water deer [ sic warthogs, wart hogs, antelopes, monkeys. We We shot them, traded t raded and sold them. This Frenchman played chess endlessly—his right hand against his left. [ . . . ] I wanted to go north to the Niger, to buy kola nuts, and I went to a trading post at Tabou. I bought Ginestière’s miniature camera from him. It was the first fi rst time I had seen one in my life. It was a Krauss, a French firm that’s still in existence, although I have never seen a camera like that since. I was delighted with it, and amazed. I took a few pictures at once. But I had complications from malaria. I got blackwater fever





































W hen you bought bou ght your fi rst Leica, L eica, then, the n, was it becaus b ecausee it combined taking taki ng snapshots with being able to compose in a similar simi lar manner man ner to a plate camera? camera? Yes, that’s exactly what it was for me. Also, it was a very discreet camera. I always keep the Vidom viewfinder on it. Otherwise, I couldn’t see anything. My eyes are so accustomed to it, I would never be able to take pictures any other way. Or in any other proportions than the Leica’s [24-by-36-mm format]. But there are some some square paintings, pai ntings, and a nd the Rolleiflex makes a square squa re picture. picture. Yes, there are some square paintings . . . but squares present a definite problem in composition. And I don’t believe in cropping. With the Leica, there is a play between horizontal and vertical.







































your subject is still frozen), you must say that it’s finished, that you’ve had enough. Then the subject relaxes, drops his tension and self-consciousness, and you have another chance to snap a good, lively portrait—an artless picture.

How did you train yourself How yoursel f to hold the camera so still? Well, I don’t know. I don’t drink and I don’t smoke either, but all the same I am a bundle bund le of nerves. It isn’t isn’t training or anything anyt hing like that that enables you to hold hold a camera so still. There is something that helps hel ps in some situations: situations: a small sma ll chest tripod, tr ipod, or better, a monopod.







































On a story, which lenses do you bring? bri ng? The two 50 mm, the 35 mm, and a 135 mm. Nearly always always I work with standard lenses. For landscape, you often need a telephoto (I usually use the 135 mm) so that you can get rid of the uninteresting foreground. The depth of field of a telephoto lens is minimized for action pictures. I don’t work much with a wide-angle lens. There are so many things in the same plane that it makes it difficult to compose. compose. On a story, what equ equipment ipment do you you bring? bri ng? A 35 mm, a 135 mm, and a nd two 50 mm. The T he Elmar f/3.5 if the weather weather







































From pressing the shutter one hundred times, how many good pictures pictur es do you get? It depends on the richness of the subject and the difficulty of getting it. Do you you use the 50 mm a great g reat deal? Yes. Is there any picture in your books that posed a special photographic photograph ic problem, or about which you remember particular conditions, exposures, etc.? What about that one







































Was it difficult to print the picture of the people coming down the steps in India? I don’t know, I didn’t print it. But I don’t think so. When I began with the Leica, I used Perutz film and Persenso developer. After that, I used Agfa ISS. I was always interested in getting the most sensitive film. I am not bothered by grain. I don’t mind it. I always did my own developing when I was traveling, in the hotel sink, and changed the film under the bedcovers. Do you overe overexpose xpose and a nd underdev u nderdevelop, elop, or underexpose and a nd







































special developer. The Paris lab that does all my work uses Normal developer deve loper 777, made by Har Harvey vey Photo Chemicals in New Jersey Jer sey.. To push it, they use D-76 or Bromicol from May and Baker in London.

What about darkroom work, developing and printing? You cannot ca nnot giv g ivee developing developing work to just anybody. Whoever it is should first know you and get used to your kind of work, and find out your development and printing preferences. Then you should always work with the same people. I used Leco L eco while in the United States. The first fir st time I went









































Can you do dodging on a [photogravure] plate? What kind of acrobatics will be necessary? They will have quite a lot lot to do. In a good darkroom, working with pictures is a little like being an orchestra conductor: keeping the little









































photographed perhaps, or written photographed wr itten about. It was on the story on the king’s death in London [George VI died d ied Februar Februaryy 6, 1952]. The newspaperr headlines were loud, there was an newspape a n odd lack of restraint restra int (for (f or the British Br itish),), and accounts on the t he radio and in newspapers









































You see, I don’t like to carry film, equipment, and I can just take a hundred feet [thirty meters] of film so I can deal with it in my hotel. This way, I have nothing to carry. It is pleasant to work in a team, with other photographers. But









































art is in the humanity of your thinking, how you look look at things, and the coincidence of being in a certain place at a certain time. Note: This T his inter in terview view,, conducted condu cted origin or iginally ally in English, Engli sh, was w as drawn from f rom a typewrit type written ten,, hand-annotated document in the archives of Richard L Richard L.. Simon Sim on at Columbia Colu mbia University Uni versity























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































for me, there is much more risk involved in that than in trying to completely fabricate images. And in the end, reality is so much richer!

Do you you thin th inkk that the photographs photog raphs you have have created through the years can be viewed as questions you asked from the world world,, the environment, human beings bein gs and thi things? ngs? I won’t give explanations. My photographs are there; I do not comment on my photographs—I have nothing to say. People talk way too much, “think” way too much. There are schools for everything, where you can learn anything, and a nd in the end know nothing, absolu a bsolutel telyy nothing. There is no school for sensitivity. It does not exist. It is unthinkable. You need a certain intellectual background. I won’t talk about culture . . . but a desire to enrich your mind, and to live. Because what’s wonderful in intuitive photography, it’s that vital reaction, where you are yourself and at the same time forget yourself, so that you can question reality or try tr y to understand. So these thes e photographs photograph s have been, for you, you, as they t hey say stupidly stupid ly,, sources of culture. They have educated you. Culture, art . . . I don’t know. I have lived. It’s living with intensity that’s important, intensity of life. Now there is an awful segregation, they say “young people,” people,” “old people,” people,” why not “blind photographers” too! This is an absurd world! So this is reflected just about anywhere. Nobody is pure, we are all involved in this world, even if we reject it. Do you think that looking is a solution for rediscovery? Life. It is life, looking, yes. Now, everyone has to learn math, they believe that science is above everything; a museum curator also has to be a mathematician. But there are other routes to knowledge. Painting is a route to knowledge, poetry is a route to knowledge, photography photog raphy is a route to knowledge—science knowledge—science is not the only way way. Today, applications of poetry do not cause harm to man, while often





































I believe that rhythm plays an important part in your images. Rhythm, that is a specific visual art ar t order. order. I love love painting above all. I was trained by a very good painter, a friend of an uncle who was killed during the First World War, And when I was fifteen I started painting. My concern has always been painting, and these days I practice drawing and photography. These are visual means of expression like any others. In the old days, in the Middle Ages, a tambourine player could also be a singer or play the lute, while nowadays we are so specialized. It is a world of specialists, of technicians. I believe drawing drawin g helps you a lot; lot; you you like li ke practicing practicing drawing. draw ing. Nowadays, yes, for the last seven or eight years I have been drawing a great deal, I concentrate. There is no connection between drawing, painting, and photography, except for looking; the main thing for me is looking, but whether you use one tool or the other, it has repercussions. Nothing can be done with impunity, and that same nervousness nervous ness necessary necessar y for photographing is a hindrance hindra nce for drawing. Drawing is a slow thing. You have to know how to go very slowly, so that you can go fast. Is it a good counterpoint counterpoi nt for for you, you, this th is slowness of drawing, drawi ng, compared to photography’ photography’ss speed? spee d? Yes, absolutely, it makes it possible for me to challenge myself and not always play the same record. To each his own problem. Mine is to go further fur ther than I have already gone. Your photographs are your own contribution to the modern world, to the vision of it that you have. The vision, I don’t know about that. It is like when you run, when you sweat. I live and that’s what I do. I am not into real estate. I am not a farmer. I don’t know how to do anything [else].





































But since your beginnings in the 1930s, many photographers now, and certainly thanks to you, have started photogra p hotographi phing ng the wo world. rld. I have many fathers too. There is [Martin] Munkacsi, [André] Kertész, Brassaï, who are my elders. I also have been deeply influenced by Surrealism Surrea lism’’s attitude to life—not the t he visual arts ar ts side, but the Surrealists’ philosophy of life, Breton’s philosophy. Wh at do you What you think thi nk when you see so many thousands thousand s of photographers nowada nowadays? ys? I believ bel ievee that twelv twelvee bill bi llion ion photographs are developed developed every year in the t he world. There are more and more people on Earth, and we know the number of square inches that everyone will have in a century; it is a question of numbers. These are things that one feels intuitively. But I leave it to the sociologists; my attention is directed elsewhere. Nevertheless, I think that we all are amateur sociologists sociol ogists or amateur psyc psychoanalysts, hoanalysts, because b ecause everyone is implicated. But these twelve billion photographs—perhaps it’s rather a good thing? I don’t think about photography. I never think about it; I take photos, that’ss diffe that’ dif ferent. rent. I think about a bout life; life; I think th ink about form, I think thin k about what interests me, what shocks me. And knowing k nowing that many people are trying try ing to emulate emu late you you nowadays . . . ? Everyone must do what they feel like doing. Positive, negative, I don’t know know.. There are many who do. Is that a response to the difficult world in which we live? Because a moment ago you were





































talk ing about that difficult, hard world. talking world. Is pointing a camera a gesture that can have meaning? I don’t know, I can’t answer for others: one can answer only for oneself. I love taking pictures. Once it is done, for me, the pleasure ends. Well . . . I also feel excitement in front of a contact sheet, and in front fr ont of pictures by other photographers that hav havee been shot in the same spirit as mine. But you cannot look at photographs all the time. I prefer to look at life, go see what’ what’ss happening on the street. st reet. But there is no rule; r ule; each person must find his or her way, way, there are a re a thousand ways. As for me, I find that th at you have have to forget yourself yourself completely to be able to melt into places, to become like fish in water. If photography photog raphy had not been the answer answer,, what would you have done instead? Painting. But I find it difficult di fficult to do it at the t he same time as photograph photographyy. [Jacques-André]] Boiffard [Jacques-André Boiffar d was both a very good painter, and a very good photographer. But I don’t know if he did the two things at the same time. He was a friend of [Eli] Lotar. We are in the same generation. Boiffard died a long time ago. As for me, I cannot separate one from the other. One cannot do two things at the same time. One has to take one’s one’s time. This T his is what I blame on our ou r age. a ge. I have have known the beautiful years when there was curiosity for the world. Only in 1946 did I become a “professional” photographer. Before that, I was taking photographs, but I didn’t know what I was going to do, I still thought that I woul wouldd be painting. pa inting. And for me, being a professional simply means that when you are given an assignment, you have to deliver it on time, and do it for your own pleasure. There was a curiosity in the world that had been cut by war, there was no television, there were no media, there weren’t so many people. Until 1950 it was still the nineteenth century. I have been lucky to know that world. But nowadays everyone has





































been everywhere; there are travel agencies. It is an exponential world.

If you had to choose one, which would you pick: the world from before or today’s world? Can I keep this to myself? Because it’s hard to go back. It is not a matter of backtracking, but there are other possible worlds, other human relationships. There is the respect for the individual. There have been other societies than ours. We are led to believe that this is a perfect society, but it isn’t at all. Other human relationships have existed. We have to ask the ethnologists. The f fête ête de d e l’imag l’im age e [slide show s how at the Rencontres d’ d’Arles] Arles] tonight, tonig ht, does that appeal to you? Are you happy happy to see that photography is celebrated, that we look after it, that we look at it? No, it’s a good thing. Yes. I know that your your modesty . . . But I am not modest! No? No. Photography is solitary work. There is emulation. It is interesting to know what other people do. Even so, writers do not read everything that is published. A painter does not look at everything. You have to choose. It’s reality rea lity,, it’s life that is important. We shouldn’t be sniffing around each other all the time, looking. . . . What strikes me is what you said about this solitary work, which has ha s strongly stron gly reverberated reverberated today to day.. It seems contradictory, but it is not. In fact, it is a need for solitude coupled with a need for not being isolated. It seems essential to me.







































That is maybe why photography has so much success success nowadays. nowada ys. Because people need that t hat motionless contac contact, t, which isolates less. Yes, maybe. Photography is so difficult; it is also so easy. All you need is a finger, two legs, one eye. And unfortunately people think much too much instead of letting go. I express myself very poorly. . . . Does cinema seem close [to photography] to you? It seems to me that cinema has nothing to do with photography. Photography is a visual thing that is perceived on a plane like a drawing, a lithograph, a painting. Cinema is a discourse. You never see the picture—it’s always the picture that comes next. It is completely comple tely different. di fferent. But still you feel rather comfortable with cinema. Oh, not at all! I have worked with [Jean] Renoir—I was his second assistant—but what interested me was working on the dialogues. [ . . . ] In the end, it is a bit of a trap, the ease of photography makes it extremelyy difficult. extremel dif ficult. Choice Choice is important and there t here are two things, t hings, two aspects: letting go, pressing the button, releasing. . . . [If you just keep shooting] you might think: “I’m sure to get a good one.” No! It is like shooting a flock of partridges par tridges with a machine gun: it is not possible, you have to make a very precise choice, know what you want, but at the same time you cannot censor yourself while shooting and wait. . . . All the same, you do have to wait for emotion. If the emotion isn’t there, if there is no shock . . . if you do not react with your senses,





































to a “reportage” photographer: it means getting inside life. It has nothing to do with journalism. jour nalism. Maybe the word reportage doesn’t even fit. I have known the very good years. In those days life, for me, was in a sense almost more difficult than it is now, but you could afford the luxury of spending one year in a country. Now, my colleagues go for three days. I think that Rodin is the one who said that what we make with time, time respects. It takes time, to live, to have contacts with people, to become part of a country as much as possible. At the same time, it is a very indiscreet trade. There is something revolting about photographing photographing people—it is a kind of rape, certainly it is. So So if there is no sensitivity, it becomes kind of barbaric, you are defiling something. If people don’t want to be photographed, you have to respect that. But nowadays it is extremely complicated, you almost need to bring a lawyer with you. All that weight on the camera, it’s heavy. . . .

Has this th is problem ever hampered you, crippled you? Oh, yes. All the time. In museums, for instance, the attendants stop me all the time. Well, not all the time, because I am not caught every time. It is forbi forbidden dden to photograph in museums, and a nd yet, peoples’ faces in museums are extraordinary. Once, after I was caught, an attendant at tendant discreetly went to get the police. We We went to see the t he curator, and I apologized. She said: “Y “ Yes, now I give you permission.” permission.” The chief attendant, indignant, told the curator: “Madam Curator should know that here at the museum, there are husbands who are not with their t heir wives.” wives.” I don’t know if it is a sufficient reason not to let people be photographed, but it is becoming very difficult to take





































very bad customer. Nowadays, it is a whole world of commerce. Where are we going with it?

The image im age of the world that you see in museums, that th at you see on screens like [the projection at Arles’s Théâtre Antique Ant ique tonight], ton ight], does it reflect something somethin g that’s that’s objective objective enough? Or are we flattering ourselves? There is both. It depends. There are sharp looks. I have have colleagues whose gaze is very sharp shar p and tender at the same time. This doesn’t mean they are being harsh, ha rsh, but being human. One shouldn’t be sentimental sentimen tal when it is necessary necessar y to be firm; fi rm; one shouldn’t be harsh when it’ it’ss necessary necessar y to be human. Living is difficult. di fficult. My god, what a sermon. [ . . . ] I don’t know what can be said about photography. You should do it and say nothing. You don’t do it, you take it. You are touching touchi ng on a very real problem. pr oblem. It is a question of sensitivity, and sensitivity cannot be learned in school. But how is it possible to oppose this current of indifference if we don’t don ’t try to talk about a bout . . . Because they are trying to turn people into good tools for society. Culture is a pretty minor thing. Don’t you think so? Yes, it surely is nowadays. It’s a joke. But photography is a way to educate yoursel yourself. f. It’s a way of questioning the world and questioning yourself at the





































important thing is the sense of limit. And visually, it is the sense of form. Form Form is important. importa nt. The structure str ucture of things. The T he space.

You have given a famous expression to photography: p hotography: “the decisive moment. mo ment.”” That’s not me. I had nothing to do with it. You had nothing nothi ng to do with w ith it? Absolutely not! Who stuck that on you? Images es à la sauvette: it’s a phrase [ . . . ] I used it as an epigraph to Imag by Cardinal de Retz: “There is nothing in this world that does not have a decisive moment.” We were looking for a title for the American publication, and it was Dick Simon, of Simon and Schuster, who D ecisive Moment Moment as a title for the book. It had the idea of using The Decisive seemed to me that the phrase by Cardinal de Retz could be applied to photography. Still, you had something to do with it. But no, I have nothing to do with it. I found it in Cardinal de Retz’s Mémoires. Finding it was already something: it meant reinventing it. Yes, but in the end, it becomes a sort of keyword, a passkey. It’ss like everythin It’ every thing. g. You You have to question things, t hings, wonder what’s what’s behind them, what they are about. What is it? Why? It is always





































It’s a bit dif It’s d ifficult ficult to tell tel l someone: “What do you feel like saying to people who are starti starting ng in the same line li ne as yours?” yours?” My line is the same as that of [André] [André] Kertész, that of [Mart [ Martin in]] Munkacsi, that of Umbo [Otto Umbehr]. It is all these people. It’s Man Ray. There are lots of people. You’ve spoken to me about a picture you saw in the early 1930s of three little l ittle black kids. . . . Oh, yes, it’s fantastic, fantastic, fantastic. It is a picture by Munkacsi. It lit up something within me. I thought, look, how is it possible to do that with a camera? It is really the photograph, the only photograph, but it does not take away my admiration for other photographers. You want, you want, you tell yourself: “Right, “R ight, it is up to me to search s earch in my own way and see what I can do with w ith that.” And I bought a camera, I got a camera in . . . I am not sure, in 1931, I believe. And a week later I was shooting pictures. I read the manual and that’s it. There is a small manual ma nual that is sold s old with cameras. Likewise, to develop the photos, I bought powder at the marchand de couleurs. 32 I rea readd the manual and I mixed up the powde powders. rs. I don’t don’t know anything about photography. It does not bother me—I have no desire to know. I’m not interested. What interests me is reality. The rest doesn’t interest me at all. If other people are interested, it’s their most basic right. I can understand that. But all of us don’t eat the same dishes—we don’t have to. You You have to respect people’s people’s differences; di fferences; it’s it’s essential. essential. Otherw O therwise, ise, we’ll all become technocrats. Now you you know k now more about yourself. yoursel f.







































results, there is a bit of a discrepancy. I know photographs that Cecil Beaton shot with a Brownie Box camera, it’s perfect; or Brassaï’s camera—it’s modest. Keeping that economy of means is important. Of course, it does not suit camera salesmen. They would like you to consume all the time. I own an old Leica that’s indestructible. I have another one that is faster. But the first one is quite enough.

Do you prefer pr efer the t he old ol d one, th thee fi rs rstt one? Oh, yes, in fact, yes. It belongs to the same family as the one I had when I started out. It is the Leica Model G. It’s exactly like the very first ones, except that it has a parallax correction, but otherwise it’s exactly the same concept. After that there t here was the M3, whic whichh is wonderful. That’s the one I use when I really work. The other one is my notebook, my sketchbook. For me, the camera is a sketchbook, nothing more. And a sketch is not a drawing; it is immediate. But it contains the whole essence of something caught from life. To seize life, tackle it head-on. It seems to me that you’ll never stop asking questions with this sket sketching ching mac machine. hine. Because life happens right here, as long as you have eyes and they work. [ . . . ] Photography, the way I like it, is black-and-white,





































nothing exists by itself. A beautiful red exists in relation to a brown or a white. These are relationships. Warm colors, cold colors. There are laws inherent to color, to physics. It is not my field, but these are essential things. You have to read the books written by painters. Traité du du paysage et André Lhote L hote writes about it at length length in his Traité de la figure ( (Tr Treatise eatise on landscape and figure painting) .33 A Anyway nyway,, the color problems of a painter are not any different from those a photographer encounters. But in cinema or studio photography, it is completely different from our concept of photography—that is, of things shot from life—because li fe—because the directo d irectors rs can compose their colors colors in the studio, as the milliner composes a hat. It is their problem. But in photography shot from life, li fe, from reality real ity,, that’ t hat’ss very difficult d ifficult because the eye chooses chooses what attracts it. For instance, we could see s ee a pleasing relationship relationship between colors, but as we work at 1/125th 1/ 125th of a second, the eye has ignored things that t hat the camera records. And now the print displays displays a green that t hat clashes awfully with this t his red. And everything is in there, so you can’t do anything about ab out it. And it is about commerce again! There are magazines maga zines that specialize in colorr because they think that it will sell. colo s ell. If they t hey found found a gimmick to make paper smell as well they would do it. They must sell, sell at all cost. These T hese are money problems, problems, and a neurosis that comes from





































important weapon to be used in therapies, in very precise things. But the aesthetic side, the visual beauty, that is a bit lacking, the resolution is not very. . . . But the document has incredible strength and a great range of action.

If you were offered to shoot a video, would you be interested? I prefer drawing, which is much more rudimentary and deeper. Video is exciting, but all my attention is taken up by something else. You can’t do it all; you have to choose. What is dealt with in video is not the visual question; it’s the question of relationships with people, in a very important way. You see what I mean? Visually, it doesn’t . . . it’s like television, a tiny picture like that. . . . The development development of instant insta nt cameras like li ke the Polaroid Polaroid that th at use a sonar for focusing . . . these are tools that you might like li ke since, after a fter all, a ll, they t hey are very fast, fa st, very sma s mall. ll. . . . No, I don’t know. No. I love my old Leica, I am completely at ease with it and anything anyt hing else hampers me. These T hese machines make me uncomfortable; I don’t know how to work with them, too complicated, too many thingies. I have the automatic reflex within me. If you pinch





































Who is i s your favorite favorite poet? In the last la st hour you have have talked tal ked a lot about poetry. But poetry is not only . . . it is . . . Right, of course, we could also talk about photographic poetry. But who is the “verbal” poet that you love most? Oh, like three-quarters of people, I’d say Rimbaud . . . but not to exclude a vast number of other poets. But he is i s the th e one you would wou ld name n ame fi rs rst? t? For me, Rimbaud, yes. Ever since my childhood. And which writer? Laughs] Just like that? [ Laughs Dostoyevsky?? If you said Will Dostoyevsky William iam Faulkner Faulk ner,, I’d I’d be thr t hrililled. led. No, I am talking ta lking about [those who who write wr ite]] in my own language lang uage . . . I don’t’t know . . . all don al l that is . . . Just one last l ast word before b efore you are free fr ee of my presence pre sence and a nd my questions. Thi T hiss year’s year’s Rencontres . . . what does it say





































You should go and a nd see our place, p lace, our convent, convent, it is really real ly very small. Sure, sure, I am a m going to go. I like small organizations, small things. Does it seem positive to you? you? Does it seem interestin interest ingg that this th is photography that has exci excited ted you you for for years . . . . . . that excites me still! . . . that it would would be continued, conti nued, taken up by a group of people who want to develop develop it, want it to be talked tal ked about, to be exhibited . . . There has been much too much talk. Between us, too. [ Laughs] There should not be too much talk, too many commentaries. I thank than k you. you. I am the one who should thank you. Des vergnes’s Desvergne s’s conversation conversat ion with wit h CartierCart ier-Bresso Bressonn was recorded rec orded and first fi rst broadcast broad cast on the occasion of a slide show of Cartier-Bresson Cartier- Bresson’s ’s photographs during an evening at the Théâtre Antique Antiqu e during the Rencontres d’Arles in July 1979. Transcript: Transcript: Anaïs An aïs Feyeux. Excerpts Excer pts of the t he intervi int erview ew were publish p ublished ed as: Alain Al ain Desvergn De svergnes, es, “HCB “ HCB à la l a question quest ion,” ,” Photo , no. 144 (September (Sept ember 1, 1979): 1979): 86, 87, 98. 98 .











































































The Hard Pleasure of Photography





































Author’s note: This intervie int erview w was conducted condu cted in spring 1986, 1986 , without a tape recorder, and I annotated it for its first publication. Henri Cartier Bresson and Martine Martin e Franck have reread it; I thank them for allowing publication.. This part publication p art of the interview, inter view, which covers co vers the period per iod from Henri Cartier-Bresson’ Carti er-Bresson’ss beginnings until the formation of o f Magnum, is is the most coherent remaining section of a larger project that, in the end, I abandoned.— abandon ed.—G G .A .A.T .T..

Gilles A. Tiberghien: What kind ki nd of cultural milieu mi lieu did you you grow up in? Henri Cartier-Bresson: The cultured side of my family was the Blazy side, that of my maternal grandmother. My mother often spoke about literature, but my father was irritated by all the psychology that can be found in novels. However, at the end of his life, he found a passion for Proust. It was my uncle Guillaume, my mother’s younger brother, an ambassador, who made me read Proust when I was a teenager.





































And why didn’t you? Who knows! I sold only one painting at the time. I actually bought it back recently from someone else, who had acquired it in the meantime. Once, after a session with Lhote, I was having a drink with an American girl who told me that one of her friends was going to come and join us. I wasn’t really interested—I simply wanted to chat with her. All of a sudden a man smoking a black cigarette with a silver filter comes and sits at our table. We start chatting, time passes, and we realize that the girl is gone. That’s how I met Harry Crosby. We remained very good friends. He brought me to Ermenonville, where he had rented a mill. 37 That is where I met Max Ernst and also my first girlfriend. She was thirty years old and I was twenty, which made for a very ve ry good rapport! During those years I saw a lot of [André Pieyre de] de] Mandiargues, Pierre Josse, and my cousin Louis Le Breton. Mandiargues lived close





































them an excerpt of [his 1932 novel] novel] Le clavecin de Diderot [Diderot’s harpsichord] , full of invectives against the bourgeoisie . What a text! But the paper did not even quote it.

In 1931 you left for the Ivory Coast. Why? It was for personal reasons. I caught blackwater-fever sickness there and almost died from it. The black man I was hunting with treated me. He had a good knowledge of medicinal herbs. He had poisoned an “arrogant white lady.” We were hunting together in the marshes with a headlamp. We had to progress cautiously. We looked right and left and then, all of a sudden, we would see an animal’s eyes shining. I learned to recognize the eyes from their shapes and colors. When we had killed a crocodile we would cut its head off. When we came back at the end of the hunt, it had crawled another ten meters without a head. Then we had to clean out the bile, which was poisonous, and bury it. At first I lived on the coast and I would take a dugout canoe







































and he was hired. The T he other candidates before before him had been terribly embarrassed and had not known what to answer! After that I left for Tabou, 38 on the Ivory Coast. The atmosphere was exactly as described in [Louis-Ferdinand Céline’s 1932 novel] Voyage au bout de la nuit [Journey to the End of the Night]. There were five storekeepers and five guys from the [French] administration. They hated each other but drank together. They all had “moussas” that they traded among themselves. It was completely disgusting. The French people were despicable. In the fields I saw the “moussas’ ” husbands, who were forced to work in leg irons. I had brought with me to Africa







































You had your fi rst exhi ex hibition bition at the t he Julien Ju lien Levy L evy Gallery Gal lery [in New York] in 1932 [si sic c: 1933]. 40 How did that go? The exhibition featured the first photographs that I had done here [in France].]. Julien Levy was an France a n American Surrealist Sur realist who, at the time, had settled in Bonnieux [in the South of France]. I met him at the Crosbys’, who lived at rue de Lille [in Paris] then, where [Max] Ernst lived later. And it is actually from there that [Caresse], Harry’s wife, called me when he committed suicide. Then you did a story in i n Spain Spai n and left for Mexico for for a year. year.







































the nails being driven into the coffins. It was the Calle Ecuador. It does not exist anymore. 44 When I went back [to [to Mexico] Mexico] in 1963, 196 3, I worked work ed for Alemán A lemán [V [ Valdés aldés],], the former president, who ran r an a tourinformation office. I had a driver, who did not want to come with me. I was hiding my camera under my jacket jacket but I could not take ta ke any pictures. A friend said that he was going to fix it for me. I went back with two bodyguards. Of course, it was useless to try and take a picture! pi cture! In short, these t hese were rather dangerous spots. Later on, I wen wentt to Juchitán [de Zaragoza], where I stayed for a year, selling pictures for a living.







































You are ar e also al so an a n extra in i n his h is fi lm lms. s. Yes. Renoir always wanted his assistants to know what happens on the other side of the camera. Among his assistants, I was especially friendly with [Jacques] Becker. I also liked [André] Zwoboda, but it wasn’t the same. Becker was very subtle, but the stories he told were always long and tangled. I thought that he would never succeed in making a film. fi lm. But when when I saw Casque d’or [1952] . . . ! Renoir was a wonderful man, but not an easy one. He became discouraged easily. You had to know when to suggest a drink or a Ping-Pong game. He was very demanding of the actors, but also very polite—it was always







































had enough time to finish his novel. We got on very well. 48 Later on I escaped again with Claude Lefranc. We were wondering what we were going to do after the war. He wanted to become a fashion designer. I told him that I would be a painter. Madame Lefranc knew a man from Lorraine Lorra ine who got us from Germany G ermany to France. Then I went into hiding at a farm far m in Loches, and from there I came to Paris to work for the MNGPD [Mouvement National des Prisonniers de guerre et déportés/ National movement of war prisoners and deportees], which was a clandestine movement to help escapees.









































“Henri, I don’t have any political sense.” And he was the one who had led us all!

Ri ght after Right a fter the war wa r, in 1947 1947, you participated in i n the creation of Magnum. Magnu m. How How did you all al l come to that decision? decision?









































with the photographs. There was also very exciting work when the big companies published their annual report. You could go all over the place and take pictures. I did reports for National City Bank, for Citroën. . . . Later on, that was no longer possible. You were always threatened with lawsuits.

















































































An Endl Endles esss Play Play









































Gilles Mora: Since the start of your painting and photographic photograph ic practice, practice, you you have consistently consistently claimed cla imed an an attachment to the Surrealist approach. Could you clarify how this aesthetics, based on chance and intuition, but also al so the merging mergi ng of art ar t and life, l ife, has defi ned you, and still sti ll















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































But what do you do all day? But what do you think? I look. . . . First published as: Pierre Assouline, “Henri Cartier-Bresson,” Lire , no. 226 no. 226–27 –27 (July–August 1994): 30–37.









































































Proust Questionnaire

Henri Car Cartiertier-Bresson Bresson (199 (19988)





































What is your current state of mind? If Proust had put these questions nowadays, he might have mentioned an attitude of revolt. Wh at is your What your most marked characteristic? characteri stic? Ask others. Wh at is your idea of perfection? What perfection? Love. What is your greatest fear? Power. Wh at is your favorite What favorite journey jou rney?? Escaping three times as a prisoner of war. Wh at do you What you consider the most overrated overrated virtue? vi rtue? Efficiency. Wh at words What words or phrases ph rases do you most overuse? overuse? “Yes, yes, yes,” when I mean to say, “Let’s see. s ee.””71 Wh at talent would you most like to have? What To beware of facility. If you could change one thing about your family, what would it be? My family, being mankind: prevent its extinction by techno-science. Wh at do you consider your greatest What greate st achievement? achievement? Cutting my nails.





































What is the quality you most like in a man? Integrity and a nd intuition. What is the quality you most like in a woman? Integrity and a nd intuition. Which living person do you most despise? I don’t believe in despising people, but in trying to understand the reasons for their behavior. What is it that you most dislike? My own ignorance. What are your heroes in real life? Among others, thinkers of the third and fifth centuries B.C. 72 Parmenides, Heraclit Heraclites, es, Lao-tsu, Lao -tsu, the Buddha. As far as a s eyes and ears: Piero della Francesca, Bach, Rimbaud, Cézanne, Bonnard, Degas and Proust, P roust, Elisée Reclus, Saint-Simon, Joyce, Joyce, Bakunin, the list is endless. What is your greatest extravagance? Imagination. First published as “Proust Questionnaire: Henri Cartier-Bresson,” Vanity Fair Cartier-Bressonn (May 1998): 256. Republished in Proust Questionnaire by Henri Cartier-Bresso (Amiens: Le Nyctalope, 1998).







































Endnotes Unless otherwise indicated, all endnotes are taken from the original orig inal edition of Cartierier-Bresso Bresson: n: Voir est un tout— tou t—Entre Entretien tienss et conversat con versations ions,, this volume, Henri Cart 1951–1998 (Paris: Éditions Centre Pompidou, 2014). Annotations from the original authors/interviewers are noted by their initials. Additional annotations from the French-English translator are noted as by “ Trans.” 1. From Henri Cartier-Bresson, Cartier-Bresson, “Cuba: An Island of Pleasure Gone Adrift,” Life (March 15, 1963): 42. 2. Henri Cartier-Bresson, Cartier-Bresson, L L’’ imagina imaginaire ire d’apr d’après ès nature nature (Saint-Clément-de-Rivière, France: Mind ’s Eye: Writings on Photography and Fata Morgana, 1996); in English as The Mind’s Photographe Photo graphers rs, trans. by Diana C. Stoll (New ( New York: York: Aperture, 1999). 3. A French painter painter and illustrator, Paul Charles Chocarne-Moreau (1855–193 (1855 –19311) is known for his Parisian genre scenes. 4. In French, à pas de loup: “with “w ith a wolf ’s steps.”— steps.”—Trans. 5. Richard L. Simon was the cofounder of the New York publishing house Simon and Schuster, which in 1952 published The Decisive Moment, the American Images ges à la sauvette (Paris: Verve, 1952). In 2014, Steidl published edition of Ima facsimile editions of the French and the English versions; both are packaged with an additional booklet with an essay on the history of the publication by Clément Chéroux. 6. Simon is referring to the first lines of the foreword by Cartier-Bresson in Imag Images es à la sauvette / /The Decisive Moment. 7. Car Cartier-Bresson tier-Bresson is probably referr referring ing here to his American friend Peter Powel, Powel,





































9. Simon is referr referring ing to Car Cartier-Bresson’ tier-Bresson’ss Juvisy (1938). The town of Juvisy is on the Orge River,, a tributary River t ributary of the Seine, not the Marne. Mar ne. Cartier-Bresson, Cartier-Bresson, too, regularly confused the names of the rivers Marne and Seine.— Trans. Images es à la 10. Draeger Frères, the well-known Paris-based printing house that produced Imag sauvette/The Decisive Decisive Moment Moment.—Trans. Images es à la sauvette/The Decisive Moment, the final line 11. In the French edition of Imag of Cartier-Bresson’s of Cartier-Bresson’s foreword reads: “En photographie, cette organisation visuelle ne peut être que le fait d’un sentiment spontané des rythmes plastiques”: “In photography, visual organization can stem only from a developed instinct of plastic rhythms .” In the English-language edition, the words “of plastic rhythms” do not appear.— Trans. silhouette uette de passe-mu passe-murail raille le: “the silhouette of one who walks through 12. In French, sa silho walls.”—Trans.

13. Louis de Rouvroy, Duke de Saint-Simon (1675–1755) was a soldier and writer, known Mémoires es.—Trans. especially for his Mémoir 14. In French, à pas de loup: “with a wolf’s steps.”—Trans. 15. Henri Cartier Car tier-Bresson, -Bresson, À À propo proposs de l’URS l’URSSS (Paris: Éditions du Chêne, 1973). In About ut Russia Russia (New York: Penguin Putnam, 1974). English as Abo 16. The Photographs of Henri Cartier-Bresson, Museum of Modern Art, New York, February 4–April 6, 1947. 17. The Magnum Photos cooperative was founded in 1947 1947 by Cartier-Bresson, Robert Capa, David “Chim” Seymour, George Rodger, and William Vandivert. Vandivert left soon after Magnum’s founding.—Trans.





































21. Fernand Cormon (1845–1924): French painter who taught at the École des Beaux-Arts in Paris. 22. The École des Hautes Études Commerciales in Paris, a business school.— Trans. 23. André Lhote’s Traité Traité du du paysage (1939) and Traité Traité de de la figure (1950) were Traité du du paysage et de la figure (Paris: Grasset, 1958). The texts published together as Traité L andscape Painting (London: Zwemmer, 1950) were translated to English as Treatise on Landscape and Theory of Figure Painting (New York: Praeger, 1954). 24. Magnum was founded in 1947 by Capa, Seymour (“Chim”), Cartier-Bresson, and (not mentioned here) George Rodger and William Vandivert. Vandivert left shortly after the agency was founded.—Trans. 25. Cartier-Bresson sent a clarification to Le Monde’s editors on September 6, September 6, 1974, the day after the publication of this interview. On September 7 September 7, Le Monde published this note: “On ne peut nier un grand souci de la forme chez Avedon et David Hamilton et les préoccupations de Duane Michals et Bruce Davidson n’ont rien à voir avec la mode et la publicité, et encore moins celles de Sudre et de Diane Arbus. Arbus.”” (“M. Henri Henri Le Monde, Cartier-Bresson lets us know that in the interview he gave to Yves Bourde [ Le September 5], September 5], you should read: ‘A great preoccupation with form cannot be denied in Avedon’s and David Hamilton’s work, and Duane Michals’s and Bruce Davidson’s concerns have nothing to do with fashion and publicity, neither do Sudre’s and Diane Arbus’s.’’ ”) Arbus’s. 26. Cartier-Bresson is referring to Eugen Herrigel’s Zen in der Kunst des Bogenschiessens l’art chevaleres chevaleresque que du du tir tir à (Konstanz, Germany: Weller, 1948). In French as Le Zen dans l’art l’arc (Lyons: Derain, 1955); in English as Zen in the Art of Archery (New York: Pantheon, 1953). 27. In fact, this was an alleged inscription on the pediment of the Academy founded Ἀγεωμέτρητος μηδεὶς εἰσίτω





































29. A Swiss engineer of Polish descent, Stefan Kudelski (1929–2013) was the inventor of the Nagra tape recorder in 1951. Entretiens ns (Paris: Gallimard, 30. André A ndré Breton, Breton, Entretie Gal limard, 1952). In English as Conversations: The Autobiography of Surrealism, tra trans. ns. by Mark Polizzotti (London (L ondon:: Marlowe, 1952; 1995). bibliothèque ue est est en feu (Paris: Broder, 1956). In English as This 31. See René Char, La bibliothèq Smoke That Carried Us: Selected Poems of René Char René Char, trans. by Susanne Dubroff (Buffalo, NY: White Pine Press, 2004).

32. Cartier-Bres Cartier-Bresson son translates marchand de couleurs elsewhere as the French equivalent to the American “corner drugstore.”— Trans. Traité du du paysage et de la figure (1958). In English as Treatise on 33. André A ndré Lhote, Traité Landscape Pain Painting ting (1950) and Theory of Figure Painting (1954).

34. Frise-Poulet translates roughly as “Curly Chicken.”—Trans. 35. Jean Rouvier would go on to become an eminent historian and essayist.— Trans. 36. Elena “Léna” Mumm later married the t he author author Edmund Wilson.— G.A.T. 37. American poet Harry 37. Harr y Crosby lived lived in Paris with his wife, Caresse, beginning in 1922. Together they created a small publishing house, Black Sun Press, which published, among much else, Hart Crane’s poem “The Bridge” Br idge” with three photographs by Walker Walker Evans. The mill Cartier-Bresson mentions, Le Moulin du Soleil, was rented to Armand de la Rochefoucauld.— G.A.T. 38. Tabo Tabouu is a small harbor ha rbor near Cape Palmas in the Ivory Ivory Coast. For further information Cartier-Bresson: son: A Biograph Biographyy (London: about this period, see Pierre Assouline, Henri Cartier-Bres





































41. Guadalupe Marin was, in fact, Rivera’s Rivera’s second wife. His first marriage, mar riage, to Angelina Beloff, took place when he lived in France in the first decade of the twentieth century; the G.A.T A.T.. [2013 note] couple gave birth to a son who died in infancy.— G. 42. Ignacio Aguirre (1900–1990), known as “Nacho,” was a Mexican painter. In Cartier-Bresson’s 1934 photograph sometimes titled Santa Clara, Aguirre is the figure Cartierier-Bresson Bresson:: The Early E arly Work posing with crossed arms. See Peter Peter Galassi, Henri Cart (New York: York: Museum of Modern Art, Ar t, 1987).— G.A.T. Excélsior ior is a magazine published in Mexico City.— G.A.T. 43. Excéls

44. See also Juan Rulfo’s account, “Le Mexique des années trente vu par CartierCartier-Bresson: sson: Carnets de notes notes sur sur le Mexiq Mexique ue (Paris: Centre Cultural Bresson,” in Henri Cartier-Bre de Mexique, 1984), n.p.— G.A.T. 45. American poet Charles Henri Ford later became the editor of the New York Surrealist journal View.— G.A.T. 46. Cartier-Bresson met the composer Nicolas Nabokov in Paris, through the gallerist Pierre Colle.— G.A.T. 47. For more on Cartier-Bresson and Helen Levitt, see Maria Morris Hambourg and Helen Levitt Levitt (San Francisco: Sandra S. Phillips, “Helen Levitt: A Life in Part,” in idem., Helen San Francisco Museum of Modern of Modern Art, 1994), 48.— G.A.T. 48. For more on Cartier-Bresson, Douarinou, and Guérin, see the biography by Raymon mondd Guér G uérin: in: 31, allées allées Dam Damour our (Paris: Table Ronde, Jean-Paul Jean-P aul Kauffmann, Kauffma nn, Ray G.A.T A.T.. [2013 note] “La petite vermillon,” vermillon,” 2004, 2004 , 2007), 115–17.— G. Return to Lif Lifee), a 1937 documentary on the hospitals 49. The film is Victoire de la vie ( Return in Republican Spain. For For further fur ther information on Cartier Car tier-Bresson’ -Bresson’ss films, see Serge







































51. The reference is to George VI’s coronation, in May 1937. Cartier-Bresson, who had just been hired by Ce Soir, a Communist daily founded by Louis Aragon in March of the same year, covered the event along with Paul Nizan.—G.A.T. 52. Cartier-Bresson sailed for Africa in October 1930 October 1930 and stayed for more than a year. Return to 53. The four films by Cartier-Bresson referenced here are: Victoire de la vie ( Return Life; 1938); Le retour retour (The Return; 1945); California Impressions (1969–70); and Southern (1969–70) –70).. He was also the director of the films With the Abraham Lincoln Exposures Expos ures (1969 Brigade in Spain Spain (1937–38) and L L’Espagne ’Espagne vivra (Spain Will Live; 1938).

54. Henri Cartier-Bres Paris: Delpire, 1979). 1979). In English as Henri Cartier-Bresson: son: Photo Photographe graphe ( (Paris: Cartier-Bresson: Photographer ( (New New York: York: New York Graphic Society, 1979; reissued r eissued by Bulfinch Press, 1992).—Trans. 55. George Rodger, not mentioned here, was also a Magnum cofounder. The American photographer William Vandivert, originally among the founders, dropped out of the group shortly after Magnum was formed.—Trans. 56. The Photographs of Henri Cartier-Bresson, Museum of Modern Art, New York, February 4–April 7, 1947. During its planning, the exhibition was deemed posthumous; the curators thought that Cartier-Bresson had died during the war. Photopo toportra rtraits its (London: Thames and Hudson; Paris: Gallimard, 57. Henri Cartier-Bresson, Pho 1985).





































60. See Cartier-Bresson’s interview with Simon, “Photography Is Very Difficult,” in the present volume, pp. 15–29. Images es à la sauvette, as republished in Les Cahiers Cahiers de la 61. The foreword to Imag Photograph Photo graphie, ie, has a postscript by Cartier-Bresson dated December 2, December 2, 1985. See Les no.. 18 (1986): (1986): 20. 2 0. Cahiers de la Photographie, no

62. From 1937 to 1967, Cartier-Bresson was married to Carolina Jeanne de Souza-Ijke, known as “Ratna Mohini” or “Eli,” an Indonesian dancer. 63. The Photographs of Henri Cartier-Bresson, Museum of Modern Art, New York, February 4–April 6, 1947. règle du jeu (The Rules of the Game; 64. Cartier-Bresson also worked with Renoir on La règle campagne and with Swoboda on La règle règle 1939). He worked alongside Becker on Partie de campagne du jeu, and with both of them on La vie est à nous.—Trans.

65. The book Cartier-Bresson refers to is the catalogue to his 1947 MoMA exhibition. 66. Pierre Colle was a Parisian gallery owner associated associated with the Surrealists. Surrea lists. 67. Le retour retour (The Return; 1945) was commissioned by the U.S. Office of War Information. 68. See Cartier-Bresson’s interview with Simon, “Photography Is Very Difficult,” in the present volume, pp. 15–29.





































Bibliography of Selected Interviews with Henri Cartier-Bresson Published Interviews Masclet, Daniel. “Un reporter . . . Henri Cart Cartier ier-Bresson: -Bresson: Interview de Daniel Masclet du Photo-France ance, no. 7 (May 1951): 28–33. Groupe des XV.” Photo-Fr “Cartier-Bresson: Ne désincarnez pas ce que vous photographiez.” Arts, no. 433 (October 15–21, (October 15–21, 1953): 10. “La photographie, qu’est-ce que c’est? Un entretien avec H. Cartier-Bresson.” Témoignage Chrétien, no. 516 (May 28, 1954): 6. Popular ar Photogr Photography aphy 40, Dobell, Byron. “A Conversation with Henri Cartier-Bresson.” Popul no. 9 (September 195 (September 1957): 7): 130–32 130 –32.. (Interview conducted May May 24, 1957.) L’Express ’Express, no. 385 (Octo “Photographie: En lisant Saint-Simon.” L (October ber 30, 30, 1958): 21. Infinityy (December “One-Man Shows Are A re Best.” Infinit (December 1959): 1959): 13–14, 20.

Baby, Yvonne. “ ‘Le dur plaisir’ de Henri Cartier-Bresson.” L L’Express ’Express, no. 524 (June 29, 1961): 34 34–35. –35. Published P ublished in English as “Henri Cartier Car tier-Bresson -Bresson on the Art of Photography,” Photography,” Harper’ss Magazine Harper’ Magazine 223, no. 1,338 (Nov ( November ember 1961): 1961): 73–78. Dentan, Yves. “Un portrait d’Henri Cartier-Bresson.” Réforme, no. 1,133 (December 3, (December 3, 1966): 16.





































Nouvelles Lévêque, Jean-Jacques. “Henri Cartier-Bresson: Ma lutte avec le temps.” Les Nouvelles 2,249 49 (October (October 29, 29, 1970): 10. Littéraires Littérai res, no. 2,2

Bothorel, Jean. “Un aristocrate ar istocrate de la photo: photo: Henri Cartier Car tier-Bresson -Bresson regarde vivre les Catholique ique, no. 1,319 (November 18–24 français.” La Vie Cathol (November 18–24,, 1970): 31 31–33. –33. Bourde, Yves. “Les érotiques de Cartier-Bresson.” Photo, no. 57 (June 1972): 72– 72–81, 81, 126. Popular ar Turner-Seed, Sheila. “Henri Cartier-Bresson: Interview by Sheila Turner-Seed.” Popul Photograph Photo graphyy 74, no. 5 (May 1974): 108, 117, 139, 142, 198. (Excerpted from an interview conducted in spring 1973.)

Bourde, Yves. “Un entretien avec Henri Cartier-Bresson: ‘Nul ne peut entrer ici s’il n’est pas géomètre.’ ” Le Monde, no. 1,350 (September 5, (September 5, 1974): 13. Published in English as “Henri Cart Cartier ier-Bresson -Bresson Talks to Yves Yves Bourde: The Camera as ‘Optical, Mechanical Sketchbook.’ ” Guardian, September 28, September 28, 197 1974, 4, 14. Excerpts from fr om this interview were republished as “Un entretien avec Henri Cart Cartier ier-Bresson. -Bresson.”” In Henri Cartier-Bresson: 70 photogr 70 photographies aphies. Marseille: École d’art et d’architecture de Luminy, 1977. “H.C.B. vu par Cartier Car tier-Bresson, -Bresson,”” Photo, no. 88 (Nov ( November ember 1974): 1974): 49, 114. Photograph graphyy, Hill, Paul, and Thomas T homas Cooper. “Henri Cartier Car tier-Bresson. -Bresson.”” In Dialogue with Photo 74–79. Manchester, UK: Cornerhouse, 1979. (Interview conducted November 1977.) November 1977.)

Desvergnes, Alain. “ HCB à la question,” Photo, no. 144 (September 1, (September 1, 1979): 86, 87, 98. Excerpts from Desvergnes’ Desvergnes’ss recorded interview with Cart Cartier ier-Bresson, -Bresson, broadcast during a slide show of Cartier-Bresson’s photographs, projected at the Théâtre Antique in Arles during the Rencontres d’Arles, July 1979. Whelan, Richard. R ichard. “Cartier “Car tier-Bresson: -Bresson: ‘For ‘For Me, Photography Is a Physical Physica l Pleasure,’ Pleasu re,’ ” Art





































Peppiatt, Michael. “Artist’s Dialogue: Henri Cartier-Bresson—Drawing on an Old Passion.” Architectura Archi tecturall Digest Digest 44, no. 1 (January 1987): 40, 44, 46. International, no. 1 (Fall “Henri Cartier-Bresson: Draughtsman and a nd Photographer. Photographer.” Art International 1987): 69–73.

Kšajt, František. “Žijí ijící cí legenda v pra žské vystavní síni.” Tvorba (June 22, 1988). Boegner, Philippe. “Cartier-Bresson: ‘Photographier n’est rien, regarder c’est tout!,’ ” Figaro Magazine Mag azine, no. 13,843 (F (February ebruary 25, 1989): 104–10. Hopkinson, Amanda. “Interview “I nterview with Henri Cart Cartier ier-Bresson. -Bresson.”” British Journal of Photography Photo graphy 136, no. 6,741 (October 26, (October 26, 1989): 12–19. Cartier-Bresson, Henri. “Magnum, le Zen et le tir à l’art.” Le Monde, no. 13,974 (January 25, 1990): 2. Schisa, Brunella. Br unella. “Ritratto di d i un mito senza volto. volto.” Venerdi di Repubblica (June 8, 1990): 124–29. Ellis, Eric. “Cartier-Bresson Talks! A Life of Fleeting Moments.” Good Weekend (August 17, 1991): 20–27. Cressard, Armelle. “Renseignements “Renseignements généreux: Le bon plaisir–Légende plaisir– Légende sur photos.” photos.” Le (September 9–15, 1991): 25. Monde, Radio-T Radio-Télévision élévision, no. 14,498 (September 9–15, Guerrin, Miche Michel.l. “Rencontre avec Henri Cartier Car tier-Bresson: -Bresson: La jou La jouissan issance ce de de l’l’oeil, oeil,”” Le Monde, no. 14,5 4,544 44 (Nov ( November ember 21, 21, 1991): 19–21. Published in English as “An Interview with Henri Henr i Cartier-Bresson. Ca rtier-Bresson.”” Visual Anthropology 5, no. 3– 3–44 (1993): 331–37. 331–37.







































Dagen, Philippe. “Henri Cartier-Bresson Ca rtier-Bresson raconte raconte sa passion pour le pour le dessin.” Le Monde, no. 15,590 (March 11 11,, 1995): 28. Tyler, Christian. “Exposed: The Camera-Shy Photographer.” Financial Times, no. 32,929 (March 9–10, 1996): 20. Leirner, Sheila. “HCB: ‘Nunca somos novos, tudo jà foi dito,’ ” O Estado de São Paulo (June 15, 1996): 4–5. Sviblova, Olga. “Henri Cartier-Bresson.” Matador (January–February 1997): 92–97. Guerrin, Mich Michel. el. “Quelques instants vrais dans da ns la vie de HCB.” Le Le Monde Monde, no. 16,221 (March 21 21,, 1997): 29. Cartier-Bresson, Henri. “Magnum: The Founders.” In Russell Miller, Magnu Magnum: m: Fifty Fifty Years at the Front Line of History, 46–48. 46– 48. New New York: Grove Press, 1997. “Henri Car Cartier tier-Bresson: -Bresson: Objectif croquis.” Télérama, no. 82 (special edition, 1997): 44–45. Guerrin, Mich Michel. el. “Henri Cart Cartier ier-Bresson -Bresson raconte ses ‘années Bazaar.’ ” Le Monde, no. 16,51 16,5155 (March ( March 3, 1998): 27.





































Le Monde Monde, no. 18,120 Guerrin, Michel. “Cartier-Bresson, le photographe decisive.” Le (April 23, 2003): 20 03): 18–19. 18–19.

Ollier, Brigitte. “Henri Cartier-Bresson: ‘Moi, je n’ai aucune imagination, je regarde.’ ” Libérationn, no. 6,8 Libératio 6,830 30 (special edition, edition, April 29, 2003): 4. Fouchet, Jeanne. “Henri Cartier-Bresson: Naissance d’un mythe.” Paris Photo Mag Magazine azine Internationall, no. 25 (April–May 2003) Internationa 2003):: 34–45. 34– 45. Stoll, Diana C. “Henri “Henr i Cartier Car tier-Bresson: -Bresson: The Grace of Intuitio I ntuition,” n,” Aperture, no. 171 (Summer 2003): 44–61. Guerrin, Miche Michel.l. “Henri Cart Cartier ier-Bresson: -Bresson: La géométrie du vivant. vivant.”” Le Monde, no. 18,515 (August 6, 2004): 15–18. 100 Photos Photos du du Robin, Marie-Monique. “Le monde selon Henri Cartier-Bresson.” In Les 100 Capa/Éditions Éditions Binôme, Binôme, 2004. 200 4. siècle. Paris: Agence Capa/

Tiberghien, Gilles A. “Le dur plaisir de photographier: photographier: Entretien avec Henri Cartier Car tier-Bresson.” Les Cahiers (Summer 2005): 55–63. 55– 63. Cahiers du du Musée Musée National National d’Art Moderne, no. 92 (Summer (Interview conducted in 1986.)





































minutes. Excerpts published in Alain Desvergnes, “HCB à la question, question,”” Photo, no. 144 (September 1, (September 1, 1979): 86, 87, 98. plaisirr d’Henri Cartier-Bresson, Radio France Culture, Inter view with Vera Feyder, Le bon plaisi Interview broadcast September 1 September 14, 1991. 270 minutes.

Interview with Ferdinando Scianna, Radio R adio Lampi d’Estate, broadcast September 7 September 7, 1998. 82 minutes. Interview with Susan Stamberg, Stam berg, NPR News Radio, broadcast July 3, 2003. 200 3. 9 minutes. minutes.

Video Interviews Henri Cartier-Bresson: L’avent ’aventure ure moderne, 1962. Film by Roger Kahane for the Office de Radiodiffusion Télévision Française. 29 minutes. H.C.B. Point d’ d’interro interrogatio gationn ?, 1994. Film by Sarah Moon for Take Five Productions. 38 minutes. La Conversation: Conversation: Henri Cartier-Bresso Cartier-Bressonn et Laure Adler, 1997. 199 7. Television Television broadcast for Le cercle de minuit, produced by France 3. 64 minutes.





































Originally published in the French language by Éditions du Centre Pompidou, Paris, 2013. The Centre National d’Art et de Culture Georges Pompidou is a national public institution under the supervision supervision of the Ministry Ministr y of Culture (law ( law #75-1 of January 3, 1975). Chairman, Director & CEO Serge Lasvignes Executive Director Denis Berthomier Berthomier Director, Musée National d’Art d’Art Moderne-Centre de Création Industrielle Bernard Blistène Director, Département du Développement Culturel Kathryn Weir President, Association pour le Développement du Centre Pompidou Jack Lang President, Société des Amis du Musée National d’Art Moderne Didier Grumbach For all the texts in this volume: © Henri Cart Cartier ier-Bresson/Courtesy -Bresson/Courtesy Fondation Fondation Henri Cart Cartier ier-Bresson. -Bresson. p. 9: “A Reporter . . . ,” interview with Daniel Masclet (1951): © Succession Daniel Masclet • p. p. 15: “Photography Is Very Very Difficult,” D ifficult,” interview with Richard L. Simon (ca. 1952): all





































Henri Cartier-Bresson: Interviews and Conversatio Conversations, ns, 1951 1951–1998 –1998 Edited and with a foreword by Clément Chéroux and Julie Jones

The Aperture staff sta ff for this book: Associate Editor: Samantha Marlow Design Concept: Brian Berding Typesettin ypesetting: g: Westchester Westchester Publishing Services S ervices Production Director: Nicole Moulaison Copy Editor: Diana C. Stoll Translator: Translato r: Carole Ca role Naggar Senior Text Editor: Susan Ciccotti Proofreader: Sally Knapp Work Scholar: Simon Hunegs Additional staff of the Additional t he Aperture book program includes: Chris Boot, Executive Director; Director; Sarah Sara h McNear, Deputy Director; Lesley L esley A. Martin, Creative Director; Director; Amelia Lang, Managing Editor; Kellie McLaughlin, Director of Sales and Marketing; Richard Gregg, Sales

whatsoever without written whatsoever wr itten permission from the publisher. First Aperture edition, 2017 Printed by Toppan in China 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Library of Congress Cataloging-inCataloging-inPublication Data Names: Cartier Car tier--Bresso Bresson, n, Henri, 1908 1908–2004 –2004,, author. | Cheroux, Clement, 1970– editor. | Jones, Julie, 1983– editor editor.. Title:: Henri Title Henr i Cartier Car tier--Bresson: Interviews and conversations, 1951–1998 / Henri CartierBresson ; edited and foreword by Clement Cheroux and Julie Jones. Other titles: Interviews. English English Description: First Aperture edition. | New York : Aperture, 2017. 2017. | Translatio Translationn of: Voir Voir est un tout. Identifiers: LCCN 201 20160511 6051168 68 | ISBN 9781597113922 (alk. paper)

Henri CARTIER-BRESSON. Interviews and Conversations 1951-1998. Aperture. 2017

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