Lee Miller

In  New York City in late November, I happened to walk by the Rizzoli bookstore and wandered in. It's not in its original location, but it still feels very much like an old world bookstore, the kind of space in which one wants to linger and finger the pages of books. I picked up a book on photographer Lee Miller, which I thought my younger daughter Clara and I could share.

Clara has read it and now it's my turn. The question of female beauty has arisen, I see her as athletic and wholesome, but also a cross between Catherine Deneuve and Greta Gerwig. But what I like the most of course are the clothes and the poses. 

The fact that she was both in front of the camera and behind it is also intriguing. 

  in front …  

… and behind the camera

                                                                                                   

Becky Conekin, the author of the book on Miller and fashion, attempts to analyze this paradox, and attempts to understand the possibility of a woman making herself the object of the gaze.  I'm not sure that Conekin succeeds in her interpretation. But it doesn't really matter. This book is a fun fashion book and a biography of a woman who had an extraordinary life. 

This photograph, taken during World War II to promote the use of safety gear during German bombings of London, summarizes for me at least the disappearance of a border between aesthetics (surrealist inspired in this case), commodification (of clothing, not just as practical but also as fashionable and trendy) and propaganda (we can defend ourselves against the enemy). Furthermore the photograph is very modern. By modern I mean that it is not only timeless, but it sets the style for fashion photography for decades to come. Fashion photography is attractive not only because it commodifies the clothes. That would be predictable and boring. But because it also surprises the viewer with poses, accessories, lighting, backdrops and special effects (with the advent of photoshop) that make the viewer dream of another reality. At the risk of sounding like a Roland Barthes wannabe, I will stop and let the images speak for themselves.