Homage to Koudelka

Exiles - Josef Koudelka

I had always thought this to be Josef's own arm, as he was staring down a Prague street in 1968 during the Russian invasion (hmm, history is repeating), but got suspicious when I decided to do a homage picture in Istanbul, because on all my attempts my arm invariably entered the frame from the lower left corner instead of the left edge, and also extended "into the space". Then I did some digging and found this Guardian article according to which it is indeed the arm of a passerby!

The watch happens to be a Raketa 2603, made in Saint-Petersburg. This webpage has a very nice montage of a Raketa 2603 with the original picture.

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To obtain a similar perspective and size of fist as that in Koudelka's photo I tried several different focal lengths between 24mm to 35mm on a 35mm camera at home. In the end I thought 28mm was about right. In an interview in one of his books Koudelka stated that he used an East German 25mm lens for his Gypsies series. That work was made in the 1960s, so I think it reasonable to assume that for the Prague photo he used the same 25mm. Maybe the Zeiss Jena Flektogon 25mm/f4 on an Exacta? Like this ?

Anyway, on the 13th March 2021, on a sunny but chilly day, I walked the streets of Istanbul with a 28mm on my camera and the purpose of doing a homage to a photographer whose work I come back to again and again. This picture from the single roll I exposed that day has had the staying power for me: 

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Dogfood, a zine that I love, called out to its readers a while ago and asked them to send their Koudelka re-enactments and published a wonderful selection in its 8th issue, from which I hope it's OK to show a couple of spreads:

As you can see, some of the arms do enter the frame from almost center left; and indeed one from the right! Have they all had a friend to pose? Were they all aware that, to remain faithful to the original, it had to be someone else's arm? Or are my arms too short? I feel there is a mystery out there.

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Some 20 years ago, I was desperately looking for a copy of Koudelka's Exiles. It was out of press and nowhere to be found. Then one day I was in Rome, walking the back streets, and entered a small bookshop...and to my delight found a brand new copy from an Italian publisher (Alinari). I bought it on the spot of course. The opening photo of Exiles is the '68 Prague picture, by the way.

I'd like to end with a lesson learned: books go out of print. When they are gone you might never find another one; at least for a reasonable price, because the prices of some will skyrocket (Amazon's algorithms probably have a hand in that as well). So, if you like a photo book and have the means, I strongly suggest you buy it while it is still in print.

The Smell of Bread

The community "Backhaus" - literally meaning "Baking House" - was a very common occurrence in German villages. Farming families would each take their turn in baking their bread that would last them several weeks. Relatives from my maternal side live in a small Swabian village in southwest Germany, and when my grandparents were still alive they regularly baked their bread in the Backhaus. 

Today the practice seems to have largely ceased. I even read that in some places the Backhaus is now used by tourists where they are baking under supervision!

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In 1995 I was fresh out of university in Istanbul, went to Germany and lived with my grandparents for a year. I had already dabbled a bit with my uncle's old M42 mount Revueflex camera and colour print film, but the prints I got back from the shops were mostly poor. I can't remember  how exactly, but at one point I found out that for the best quality I had to shoot slides. And indeed, the first roll of slide film was a revelation! Those colours, that clarity...it was unbelievable. Then, with the little money I had, I bought myself a new camera: a Canon EOS 500n with a 35-80mm plastic zoom.  In hindsight, that cheap lens coupled with slide film gave remarkable results.

So it was that one morning in 1996, with that Canon camera I photographed my grandmother baking bread. It was her turn in the Backhaus, which is a couple of hundred meters away in the village centre. Here she is at home in the kitchen preparing sourdough loaves. Note the size of the trough!

This picture is full of other memories as well. For instance, as a child I used to crawl into the small space below the radio on the wall.

A couple of hours later, fresh out of the stone oven, the bread gets a good scrubbing with a brush dipped in water (for a crisp crust):

And here's the baked bread, which will be carted back home:

Some of the bread that would not be consumed in the immediate future will be stored in the community freezer !

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Fast forward 5-6 years, during which I thought (or marketing departments made me think) I had to have eye-controlled focus and got myself  first a Canon EOS 50E and then even a Canon EOS 3 (now that was a loud beast)...which - including several lenses - were stolen during a break-in whilst in London, of all places! Shortly after that burglary in 2002 I saw a discount on brand new Leica M6's and decided to make a clean break with Canon, and bought an M6 TTL with 35mm and 50mm Summicron's. I've been using that M6 with lenses ever since. My sample must have been a monday camera though, as it's been in repair several times for some serious issues (broken hinge on back door, broken shutter curtain...). Still, it's been a constant companion for two decades now and I never much regretted the stolen Canon's.

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One sunny day in 2003,  a period when one million Turkish liras could only buy a döner plus a drink, I had slide film in the Leica (Fuji Velvia) and found the approaching crate of bread extremely appealing.

I'd started using B&W film in 1998 and was shooting it alongside the occasional roll of slide. Sometime around 2005 I completely quit slides and concentrated on B&W exclusively (is there anyone who can still afford slides?).

In 2017 I made this picture in a small bakery on the Mediterranean coast (with the same M6 and 35mm lens):

(Lest you think I blew the window, the tiniest detail of netting is actually visible in the print, which I couldn't preserve whilst processing the scan. Still, I should've done better.)

Later I tried to give the young man a print, but didn't see him again. I was told he went to university.

And on a stroll in 2020, I stopped mid-stride in front of this apartment door in Istanbul, where plastic bags full of bread were hanging (again the M6, but with a wobbly Zeiss 28mm this time):

So, looking back on this small bit of personal history and selection of pictures, one could say bread means something to me! As to what kind we eat at home: my wife has been baking sourdough bread for 20 years and is still using yeast that she continues to grow from the first batch of yeast which she cultivated 20 years ago.