By Jared Chausow
By Katie Toth
By Elizabeth Flock
By Albert Samaha
By Anna Merlan
By Jon Campbell
By Jon Campbell
By Albert Samaha
Abbie Hoffman's fame rested on his personality, and politics was his only product. These intangible achievements are reason enough to consider him the emblem of a decade when style and substance merged, and the naked cry of selfhood was the spark of revolutionor so we thought. Yet Abbie, the anarch of radical hip, was also a man who battled depression and sported many scars from close encounters with the police. (In this culminating photo, his often-broken nose bears the marks of a fresh bandage.) No wonder Avedon decided to frame The Sixties with two images of Abbie, opening with a characteristic posehis middle finger raised to the world, his forehead blazoned with the word fuckand closing with a portrait of the revolution artist as a man whose punch-drunk pride prefigures his suicide. "Abbie sets up the issues at the start and answers them at the end," says Doon Arbus, who compiled the text that accompanies these pictures from interviews she conducted at the time. "There's a heightening of passions and beliefs, and then ...it kind of crumbles."
Avedon is loath to discuss the trajectory of such an inconclusive decade. But he knows what matters most about the '60s: "The eternal things were given permission to rise and express themselves through political convictions. There was a license to exhibit, to come forward and use oneself in the theater of protest. But what snuck through were the deeper internal problems of being a person.... When you're thinking the book is its most political, you're hearing a cry against loneliness."
At 76, Avedon himself is in a culminating moment, "struggling with what the last period of my work will be." There are so many possibilities for an artist whose career has shat- tered every boundary a critic could police. It's hard to believe, in this omnimedia era, but the line between fine and commercial art was once so rigid that, when Avedon's work first appeared in major museums, the response was, well, let Hilton Kramer's review of a Whitney retrospective say it: "The ultimate capitulation to celebrity, money, and fashion at the expense of art." Scathing comments were directed at Avedon's way with his subjectsintrusive and cruel, some critics cried but their real beef was with his success in the slicks. Avedon redefined fashion photography in the postwar era, bringing light and motion to what had been a sepulchral stateliness. What's more, his own image (the dark-haired, darting boy) was so intriguing that Fred Astaire appropriated it in Funny Face. Such a media celebrity was supposed to be seen but not taken seriously.
So there's a certain logic to Avedon's latest book. After all, the '60s were when he burst from beneath the skirts of chic into the arena of art. He became a bad boy simply because his pictures bit the class that fed him, by showing the rich and powerful in states of icy insulation or desuetude. He became a prophet just by documenting the rise of superstars. But it's his portraits of activists, artists, and just plain folks in the grip of bemusement (such as soldiers in Vietnam posing with big-haired, mini-skirted girls) that resonate with the spirit of the '60s. Subjectivity, sensation, a fascination with surface, a blurring of fact and fiction: These are hallmarks of postmodernism, but Avedon was present at the creation. In fact, along with Andy Warhol, Norman Mailer, and the Beatles, he was the creation.
Avedon's big idea was to think of a photograph as "an opinion," and portraiture as "performance." His New Journalism of the eye intersected brilliantly with an era of insurrectionary gestures, in which persona was the measure of a person, and the self was no mere construction but something essential that showed on the surface nonetheless. The '60s gazeintense, libidinous, sincere as only narcissism can beis at the heart of what makes this book compelling.
Yet, for all their insistence on radical candor, '60s artists understood that representing the real self is a fictive process. So, unlike the documentary photographers who preceded him, Avedon dared to direct his subjects. "It was a collaboration, not a caught moment," he recalls. "I wanted the image to emanate, as if it was always there and I wasn't, but that comes only from being there"and being in control.