Ван Лео (1922-2001)
Среди пионеров фотографии на Ближнем Востоке было много армян. Уже с середины прошлого века в Константинополе существуют студии известных европейских и местных фотографов, в основном армян и греков. Некоторые из учеников этих первых мастеров разъезжаются по самым глухим уголкам Османской империи. Многие попадают в наши края уже в начале века, спасаясь от погромов и геноцида.
В почти безрезультатных поисках информации о первых иерусалимских фотографах-армянах в сети нашел более поздние работы армянских фотографов из Ливана, Палестины, Египта, которые собираюсь понемногу выкладывать. Вот, пожалуй, самая впечатляющая находка.
Ван Лео - Левон (Леон) Бояджян родился в Джихане, Турция, 1922; умер в Каире, 18 марта 2002
Галерея портретов и ссылки на статьи о Ван Лео
Из интервью 1998 года
AK: How did you become interested in photography?
VL: I've loved photography ever since I was a child-I used to collect magazines with photographs of Hollywood stars. I would to study those images, thinking about the lighting, the costumes, and the sets. In Cairo, I worked as an apprentice to Artinian, owner of Studio Venus on Qasr el Nil Street-that was one of the most highly regarded studios in the city. With Artinian, I was working for free, but I learned all the technical skills I needed. And it was one of Artinian's clients-a British guy-who convinced my father that I had talent. So my father put me to work: I photographed most of the tobacco company executives, and I also took group portraits of the accounting staff-there were about three hundred managers, and four thousand workers. My father couldn't afford to set me up with a proper studio, so we opened up Studio Angelo-named for my brother, who also wanted to be a photographer-in two rooms of our family's apartment. That was in 1941. Cairo was still a small city then: maybe two and a half million people. There were a lot of Brits and South Africans living here. One day, a British officer who was also a theater actor came to see me. He wanted me to take some photographs for an opera he was appearing in. I told him I'd take all the photographs they needed, free of charge, if they'd put an ad for Studio Angelo in the playbill. He agreed, and he also agreed that actors who wanted copies of their photographs would have to pay for them. And so that's how I got started. In 1947, I moved into this studio.
AZ: At the beginning of your career, you were your own most frequent subject.
VL: That's right. I took something like five hundred self-portraits between 1942 and 1946. I would look into the mirror and decide on the frame, the composition, the lighting. I was free to try anything-that's not always the case with clients! And I was young, willing to take risks, to experiment. I wanted to explore different ways of lighting the face, and I was fascinated by the way you could change its features just by lighting it differently. And with props, of course.
AZ: What was your clientele like in those days?
VL: Oh, I photographed thousands of people. Sometimes I would take a single picture, but if someone's face inspired me, I might take ten or more. Once I photographed a beggar, a guy who used to come in and offer me a flower as a way of asking for a few coins. I liked his face. I thought he was a dignified beggar, so I called his portrait "The Beggar Philosopher." Even when I was taking pictures of people for money, there were still times when I took pictures purely for pleasure. You know, some photographers used to run after kings or presidents-they considered it a privilege to photograph famous people like that. And they knew it would help their careers. I didn't run after anyone. I just photographed whoever came by.
AZ: Many photographers of your generation were interested in nude photography. Were you ever interested in the nude?
VL: Yes. I took hundreds of nude portraits. But I don't have any of them anymore. I burned them all ten years ago, because of the fundamentalists. I knew that having those negatives around could get me in trouble.
AZ: Was it difficult to persuade clients to undress?
VL: Well, it's never easy to be naked in front of a camera. You worry about the image becoming public, you worry about blackmail. There's something personal about nude photographs; they represent very intimate moments. As a photographer, you have to know your client well before you ask her to be photographed nude. Otherwise, there's no way she'll accept. All the nudes I did were of people I knew very well. All of them except for one: there was this Egyptian woman from Heliopolis, about twenty-five years old, and she wanted me to do a series of portraits. As I was taking the photographs, she started undressing until she was totally naked. I didn't know anything about her-I didn't even know what she did for living. But she was the only one I didn't know, the only person who ever asked to be photographed in the nude.
AZ: How do you make a great portrait?
VL: First, I study the face. You have to light it properly, and decide on a point of view. Then comes the decisive moment, when you take the picture: the expression has to be just so. After that, there's the lab work, which has to be done flawlessly. That's why I have never allowed anyone to help me print a photograph.
AZ: Tell me something about retouching-is that a big part of the process?
VL: Well, it depends on the size and the quality of the print. In the past, photographers used to employ specialists, who got paid by the piece. And they got good money, too: it cost five cents to get a passport photo done, and ten cents for a postcard-size photo, but retouching a wedding photograph could cost as much as fifty cents. I do my own retouching-not to save money, really, I prefer to do it myself to insure the perfection of the work. The tools come in grades like needles; some for retouching prints others for the negatives. We used to import them from Czechoslovakia. They're usually used to retouch white spots on the print; you select the size depending on the size of the spot. On the other hand, some prints don't need retouching at all. When I see a print, I know immediately whether or not it needs retouching. They say that photography is painting with light. Which means that you define the features of a face by the light that you project on it. If you do that well, you won't need to retouch it.
AZ: You've lived in Cairo over seventy years-your studio on 26th of July street was open for almost 50 years. How has the city changed in that time?
VL: You know, when I first moved here, this neighborhood used to look like part of Europe. Jewish merchants owned the most prestigious shops, and the Armenians worked as craftsmen; jewelers or tailors. There were some rich Armenians, too. Like Nassibian, who had a monopoly on European photography equipment. He had a shop on Fouad Street and a film studio in Faggala. He lived like a king, with a Berber driver and a Cadillac. But he left Egypt long ago. In fact, most of the big businessmen left Egypt in the fifties. In 1952, the whole downtown area burned down-my studio was nearly destroyed, as well. The jewelry shop downstairs burned down, and so did a lot of other businesses. After that came the revolution, and then the Suez crisis, and all the wars with Israel. There was no such thing as normal life! I stayed in Egypt because of my studio-that was the only thing that kept me from leaving. Now, I think maybe I was wrong. The Greeks, the Italians, and the Jews all sold whatever they owned and left. The Jews were the first to leave. We have an expression here: "A country without Jews is a country without wealth." My father had managed to save some money by buying some shares in the stock market. With Nationalization, they were all confiscated by Nasser's government. I have to admit, I'm not sure whether Nasser went to war against Israel, or against everybody including us Egyptians. But I love this country, and I got used to living here.
Van Leo (Levon Alexander Boyajian 1922-2002)
В почти безрезультатных поисках информации о первых иерусалимских фотографах-армянах в сети нашел более поздние работы армянских фотографов из Ливана, Палестины, Египта, которые собираюсь понемногу выкладывать. Вот, пожалуй, самая впечатляющая находка.
Ван Лео - Левон (Леон) Бояджян родился в Джихане, Турция, 1922; умер в Каире, 18 марта 2002
Галерея портретов и ссылки на статьи о Ван Лео
Из интервью 1998 года
AK: How did you become interested in photography?
VL: I've loved photography ever since I was a child-I used to collect magazines with photographs of Hollywood stars. I would to study those images, thinking about the lighting, the costumes, and the sets. In Cairo, I worked as an apprentice to Artinian, owner of Studio Venus on Qasr el Nil Street-that was one of the most highly regarded studios in the city. With Artinian, I was working for free, but I learned all the technical skills I needed. And it was one of Artinian's clients-a British guy-who convinced my father that I had talent. So my father put me to work: I photographed most of the tobacco company executives, and I also took group portraits of the accounting staff-there were about three hundred managers, and four thousand workers. My father couldn't afford to set me up with a proper studio, so we opened up Studio Angelo-named for my brother, who also wanted to be a photographer-in two rooms of our family's apartment. That was in 1941. Cairo was still a small city then: maybe two and a half million people. There were a lot of Brits and South Africans living here. One day, a British officer who was also a theater actor came to see me. He wanted me to take some photographs for an opera he was appearing in. I told him I'd take all the photographs they needed, free of charge, if they'd put an ad for Studio Angelo in the playbill. He agreed, and he also agreed that actors who wanted copies of their photographs would have to pay for them. And so that's how I got started. In 1947, I moved into this studio.
AZ: At the beginning of your career, you were your own most frequent subject.
VL: That's right. I took something like five hundred self-portraits between 1942 and 1946. I would look into the mirror and decide on the frame, the composition, the lighting. I was free to try anything-that's not always the case with clients! And I was young, willing to take risks, to experiment. I wanted to explore different ways of lighting the face, and I was fascinated by the way you could change its features just by lighting it differently. And with props, of course.
AZ: What was your clientele like in those days?
VL: Oh, I photographed thousands of people. Sometimes I would take a single picture, but if someone's face inspired me, I might take ten or more. Once I photographed a beggar, a guy who used to come in and offer me a flower as a way of asking for a few coins. I liked his face. I thought he was a dignified beggar, so I called his portrait "The Beggar Philosopher." Even when I was taking pictures of people for money, there were still times when I took pictures purely for pleasure. You know, some photographers used to run after kings or presidents-they considered it a privilege to photograph famous people like that. And they knew it would help their careers. I didn't run after anyone. I just photographed whoever came by.
AZ: Many photographers of your generation were interested in nude photography. Were you ever interested in the nude?
VL: Yes. I took hundreds of nude portraits. But I don't have any of them anymore. I burned them all ten years ago, because of the fundamentalists. I knew that having those negatives around could get me in trouble.
AZ: Was it difficult to persuade clients to undress?
VL: Well, it's never easy to be naked in front of a camera. You worry about the image becoming public, you worry about blackmail. There's something personal about nude photographs; they represent very intimate moments. As a photographer, you have to know your client well before you ask her to be photographed nude. Otherwise, there's no way she'll accept. All the nudes I did were of people I knew very well. All of them except for one: there was this Egyptian woman from Heliopolis, about twenty-five years old, and she wanted me to do a series of portraits. As I was taking the photographs, she started undressing until she was totally naked. I didn't know anything about her-I didn't even know what she did for living. But she was the only one I didn't know, the only person who ever asked to be photographed in the nude.
AZ: How do you make a great portrait?
VL: First, I study the face. You have to light it properly, and decide on a point of view. Then comes the decisive moment, when you take the picture: the expression has to be just so. After that, there's the lab work, which has to be done flawlessly. That's why I have never allowed anyone to help me print a photograph.
AZ: Tell me something about retouching-is that a big part of the process?
VL: Well, it depends on the size and the quality of the print. In the past, photographers used to employ specialists, who got paid by the piece. And they got good money, too: it cost five cents to get a passport photo done, and ten cents for a postcard-size photo, but retouching a wedding photograph could cost as much as fifty cents. I do my own retouching-not to save money, really, I prefer to do it myself to insure the perfection of the work. The tools come in grades like needles; some for retouching prints others for the negatives. We used to import them from Czechoslovakia. They're usually used to retouch white spots on the print; you select the size depending on the size of the spot. On the other hand, some prints don't need retouching at all. When I see a print, I know immediately whether or not it needs retouching. They say that photography is painting with light. Which means that you define the features of a face by the light that you project on it. If you do that well, you won't need to retouch it.
AZ: You've lived in Cairo over seventy years-your studio on 26th of July street was open for almost 50 years. How has the city changed in that time?
VL: You know, when I first moved here, this neighborhood used to look like part of Europe. Jewish merchants owned the most prestigious shops, and the Armenians worked as craftsmen; jewelers or tailors. There were some rich Armenians, too. Like Nassibian, who had a monopoly on European photography equipment. He had a shop on Fouad Street and a film studio in Faggala. He lived like a king, with a Berber driver and a Cadillac. But he left Egypt long ago. In fact, most of the big businessmen left Egypt in the fifties. In 1952, the whole downtown area burned down-my studio was nearly destroyed, as well. The jewelry shop downstairs burned down, and so did a lot of other businesses. After that came the revolution, and then the Suez crisis, and all the wars with Israel. There was no such thing as normal life! I stayed in Egypt because of my studio-that was the only thing that kept me from leaving. Now, I think maybe I was wrong. The Greeks, the Italians, and the Jews all sold whatever they owned and left. The Jews were the first to leave. We have an expression here: "A country without Jews is a country without wealth." My father had managed to save some money by buying some shares in the stock market. With Nationalization, they were all confiscated by Nasser's government. I have to admit, I'm not sure whether Nasser went to war against Israel, or against everybody including us Egyptians. But I love this country, and I got used to living here.
Van Leo (Levon Alexander Boyajian 1922-2002)