Urbanautica

BARBARA MENSCH. A METHOD OF ESCAPE

by Steve Bisson

«After years of battle, the market is now demolished, transforming South Street into a street of ghosts. It is a painful experience to document the very last remnants of such a legendary place.»

Tell us about where you grow up. What kind of place was it?

Barbara Mensch (BM) I grew up in south Brooklyn, near to Coney Island. It was a place where several generations of immigrants lived and thrived. Emotional, opinionated and humorous, the Irish, Italians and Jews (from eastern Europe) blended together to create the unique and mythic Brooklyn character. My neighborhood suffered from the “cookie cutter” urban architecture that was characteristic of the 1960’s. Street grids labeled with Avenue A -Z in one direction, and numbers arranged from 1-50 pointing in the other direction, reflected a strange feeling of anonymity. I lived with my family in a building filled with cramped apartments. In our home, the rooms were small with very little privacy. A simple pole lamp divided a bedroom that I shared with my sister.

There was a constant flow of family and friends to our apartment, particularly on the weekends. Several aunts and uncles were routinely present. One of my uncles smoked Cuban cigars, wore red suspenders to keep his trousers from falling, and recanted “borscht belt style” jokes. Like clockwork, after every joke, my aunt would break into shrill laughter. I was eerily reminded of the “madams”,(waxed mannequins placed in booths outside the Coney Island ghost rides) whose sinister “cacklings” lured unwitting bystanders inside. The ebb and flow of conversations would continue late into the evening, making it difficult to sleep behind the thin walls in the next room. On many Saturday nights, my parents would host members of their dance class in our living room. This “invasion” was comprised of a variety of married couples of different sizes and shapes. Some of the women were grotesque looking; hiding behind layers of makeup and artificially colored hair. Latin melodies spinning on the record player would excite the couples to rise from their chairs and then sway to the rhythms. Later in the evening, when I should have been sleeping, I could hear them gossiping, while listening to the clinking sound of whiskey glasses.

But in time I found a method of escape from these uncomfortable experiences: drawing. I would spend hours sketching from travel magazines and seasonal calendars, fantasizing about venturing far from Brooklyn. This exercise transported me into another reality, certainly one that was much more beautiful and tranquil. Throughout my childhood, I would draw everything that interested me.

© Barbara Mensch, 'My hand student drawing'

My teenage years were characterized by a desire to leave home. I was nevertheless obligated to attend Hunter College in New York City and commuted back and forth from school every day. Within a few months of attending college, I received a scholarship to study drawing in Florence, Italy. That remarkable experience (to be learning under the watchful eye of Michelangelo) was to be short-lived. There was news from home of the sudden illness of my grandparents.
Returning to New York, I then re-entered college while supporting the needs of my family.

Who was your most important teacher?

BM: My most important teacher was the California based artist John Mason, a leading American sculptor and pioneer who elevated the medium of ceramics to high art. After taking his classes, I eventually formed a very strong bond with this exceptional human being. He was supportive, wise, and I was humbled by his brilliance. As my passion for drawing grew, I gained employment as an illustrator at Ms. Magazine, (a leading national magazine devoted to women’s issues edited by Gloria Steinem). I also attended life drawing classes, assisted established artists, worked part-time as a waitress and attended art exhibitions in my spare time. I had not yet discovered photography.

And then photography. How did it all start? What are the memories of your first shots?

BM: While living in the Soho area of Lower Manhattan my mother was diagnosed with terminal cancer. My mother’s illness was life changing. John Mason had encouraged me to take photographs, and carefully showed me how to operate his camera, which I began to use regularly. The camera was a manual Pentax 35mm with a 50mm normal lens. I spent long days and nights at my mother’s bedside as her physical condition deteriorated. I took pictures to preserve her essence on film, as I was forced to confront the mystery of life and death. Soon after, my father suffered from a debilitating disease that would take his life a few years later. Using my camera to capture the end of their lives was pivotal in turning my interests away from drawing and towards photography.

What about your early works?

BM: I set up a makeshift darkroom in my bathroom, which would be disassembled after each work session. In my mind’s eye, the world would appear as a series of serial images in which the passage of time was marked in each frame. For example, I presented an early series as a group of contact sheets showing the progression of a girlfriend’s pregnancy. At the same time, I explored the idea of using still images as a series of “film fragments”, creating slide projection works with accompanying audio.

In the 1980s, exhibiting and selling fine art photography was new to the art market. There were but a few galleries that handled photography. Instead, alternative spaces funded by federal grants offered the best opportunity for young artists. My first photography exhibition was at P.S. 1 in Long Island City. I exhibited my first works along with other artists who were older and (much) more advanced in their careers, (including Hannah Wilke and the architect Frank Gehry). The work was experimental in nature and included the series about my mother’s death. I chose to exhibit the (11x14”) silver prints on a simple wooden table where the viewer could look downwards and share the intimacy of those harrowing moments.

Late night printing sessions at home led to a job a few years later in the photography studio at the world famous Knoedler Gallery in New York. As a darkroom assistant, I created a photographic reproductions of numerous paintings and works on paper. This experience made it possible to be intimate with the work of various great artists such as Marc Chagall and Alexander Calder. At the same time, I could develop my printing skills.

© Alexander Calder reproduction, Knoedler Gallery

My own darkroom was a place of quiet retreat. I was particularly intrigued with translating tonalities in the fine print since my background in drawing involved studying the endless possibilities of light. I learned as much about the technical aspects of photography as I could, poring through manuals about shooting film and processing negatives

Juliet Hindell writes in an article that you are well known for your seminal documentary project contained in the book “South Street,” «the book is a rare and intimate look at the nocturnal life of the Fulton Fish Market». Indeed, I was also very moved by this series.

BM: In search of an affordable studio in my late twenties, I moved to the New York City waterfront below the Brooklyn Bridge. Back then (in the 80’s), the waterfront was remote and out of the way. This neighborhood was so amazing! The quality of light that came from living in a place so close to the river, where there were no skyscrapers to block the sun, was unique. It was compelling to photograph dramatic shadows enveloping the ancient maritime warehouses, or when the light gently fell across the crumbling storefronts. I was very inspired by living so close to the Brooklyn Bridge, often observing how the changing weather conditions or time of day transformed the structure.

© Barbara Mensch, Brooklyn Bridge

Can you briefly introduce the motivations of this work?

BM: I had learned of the plan to demolish critical piers and parking areas essential to the operations in the Fulton Fish Market, which functioned nocturnally hard by the East River. The market was the largest seafood hub in North America generating almost a billion dollars in revenue. In its place, a commercial shopping mall would be constructed. The urban renewal would be accomplished by powerful corporations working in tandem with the New York City political machine. The real goal was to remove the Fulton Market from its traditional location where it had remained for two hundred years. A protracted fight would soon develop between the competing interests for this precious real estate below the Brooklyn Bridge.
I had a great deal of concern about what was to unfold. Ultimately, I was motivated by a passion for the subject matter and the need to photograph the authentic street characters, the faces of the men, their work activity, and all the “goings on” in the middle of the night. Reflecting back to those days, I was drawn to the challenge of photographing in an environment that was off limits to a young woman. I had always been very competitive with men and wanted to prove my worth not only as a photographer, but to test the power of my own will.

© Barbara Mensch, 'South Street', View of Waterfront

© Barbara Mensch, 'South Street', Vinny A Fillet Man

© Cover of the book 'South Street'

And what were the main challenges you faced during it?

BM: I began my work against a backdrop of investigations by the FBI and local law enforcement into criminal activities in The Fulton Market. Mob control of South Street had dominated this urban tribe of men for decades. Business was conducted and governed by their own internal rules and regulations.

Despite having my wits about me at all times, I was nevertheless the outsider with a camera. I experienced threats (at times to my life) virtually every night from workers and bosses who were suspicious that I was a federal agent. Some of the men carried guns, brass knuckles and most sported sharpened grappling hooks which could become dangerous weapons at a moments notice.

© Barbara Mensch, 'South Street', Man With 5 Dollar

© Barbara Mensch, 'South Street', Destruction of Beekman Dock

There was a sense of danger wandering in this man’s world. The protective canopy of the highway overpass, the derelict area under the Brooklyn Bridge, and the piers where the fishing boats were docked were shrouded in darkness. Together they also served as parking areas for tractor-trailers and utility vans. In the predawn hours, the vehicles could obscure a robbery, a fight, an illegal transaction, a rape, and even murder. To remain on the street I needed the “blessings” of the men who wielded the most power and influence. This effort took months and years to earn.

The popularity of “The Godfather”, and “The Sopranos” in American media culture depicted a romanticized version in the life of the “tough guy”. In contrast, “South Street” showed a raw and grim portrait of bosses and their work crews. Men with criminal records and minimal education survived solely on their wits and street smarts while working in the harshest of conditions with old fashioned blood and muscle. Many were evocative of the characters depicted as inferior outcasts in Eugene O’Neill’s play “The Hairy Ape”. Phillip Lopate wrote in his introduction to “South Street” in 2009, that the portraits were reminiscent of the characters in Luchino Visconti’s films “Rocco and His Brothers” and “La Terra Trema”. In 2005, the market was dislodged and moved to the Bronx.

© Barbara Mensch, 'South Street', Gun To Head

After years of battle, the market is now demolished, transforming South Street into a street of ghosts. It is a painful experience to document the very last remnants of such a legendary place, as I contemplate the next edition of the book.

I watched the documentary 'If These Knishes Could Talk' which tells a lot about the gentrification processes and how the New York accent is changing. "Something magical is about to vanish…”

BM. As associate producer on this film, I searched for the authentic New York characters to interview. Today, one has to venture to the far ends: to the boroughs of Staten Island or the Bronx to hear such wonderful dialects. In fact, when I was on South Street I listened to the nuanced New York accent reminding me of Damon Runyon characters who used the dialect “dem, deese, dose, youse”. I knew the colorful language needed to be a valuable component of the book.

This work, this "decades-long obsession", as Kenneth Dickerman of the Washington Post put it, inspired the book "In the Shadow of Genius: The Brooklyn Bridge and its Creators". Tell us about how difficult it was to merge and distill your archive in this edition?

BM: My abilities to build a story that would marry my own images with a narrative based on the historical record proved to be the most labor intensive and challenging work I have done to date. Many books illustrating the creation of The Brooklyn Bridge or the individual biographies of The Roeblings who built the Brooklyn Bridge, are drawn exclusively from pictures made in the 19th and early 20th centuries. In fact the same images are used repeatedly, regardless of what book is published on this truly remarkable story. I began to think about the role a contemporary photographer could play in depicting the historical record. By making it into a personal journey of discovery. I then threaded this work together. Although I had built up a substantial visual archive, the trajectory of the project transformed after I had the opportunity to photograph the interior of the Brooklyn Bridge. There were many questions and mysteries about the beautiful spaces inside that needed answering. These questions led me to various archives searching for information. The more I learned, the more I longed to know more about the remarkable individuals who built the bridge. I took on the formidable task of trying to do research at various archives. The search began by combing through primary source materials including letters, diaries, notebooks, drawings, logbooks, newspapers and journals from more than a century ago.

© Barbara Mensch, Brooklyn Bridge

© Barbara Mensch, Interior Brooklyn Bridge

© Barbara Mensch, Mysterious Piano Brooklyn Bridge

The more I investigated, the more I saw images in my minds eye. I then began to take pictures of the Brooklyn Bridge based on what I was learning from the drawings of John Roebling (the bridge’s designer). In this regard, David McCullough, the author of the seminal book “The Great Bridge”, is a kindred spirit. In a recent interview he remarked that by examining the archives of people of past historical significance, the researcher is then placed in a rare and privileged position. The researcher becomes intimate with that fabled person by gazing through a window into their most private thoughts and intellectual insights. Had that individual been alive, you could never get to know them in such a personal way. The researcher becomes the vessel, therefore the story becomes richer and more poignant.

© John Roebling’s notebook page, (Drawing of Hammersmith Bridge, London) from notebook circa 1828

For example, I was captivated by Washington Roebling’s recollections of his service during the Civil War. He was above all a talented writer with a dry and sardonic writing style. After reading his intimate and vivid memoirs of the three long days during the battle of Gettysburg, the responsibility to capture images worthy of his writing was truly challenging.

© Barbara Mensch, Tree on Gettysburg Battlefield, Gettysburg, PA.

My own life was transformed by experiencing the brilliant accomplishments of John, Washington and Emily Roebling. At the end of this journey, I considered intriguing questions about the nature of genius. After all, I was in the presence of the “sublime” and had the opportunity to scrutinize the highest order of intellectual and creative achievement. The bar was raised significantly as to what I demanded of myself, and subsequently the way I considered the work of others. To have gone through this remarkable experience became both a blessing and a curse!

Have you read any interesting books lately?

BM: I don't have much time to read these days. In the past few years, however, the amount of research and reading about the Brooklyn Bridge required to create “In The Shadow of Genius” was daunting. There are seminal books that have had a lifelong impact: Dostoevsky, Camus, and Kafka just to name a few. I have also read many biographies of artists, books on art theory, philosophy, and religion.

Currently my attention is directed to the dark political landscape in America. It is inevitable that I consume more radio, television, and reading of responsible journalism. I am absorbed in the Mueller Report. In my view, this document is a damning revelation (even in a redacted form) which addresses a dangerous time in history. The report reveals, in my view, the current political landscape as a reflection of the culture characterized by narcissism, greed, mendacity, and a diminished ability to think and be curious. Perhaps this dark time in history is also fueled by distractions and confusion created by social media platforms and the pace of life that continues to accelerate at an alarming rate. Under these circumstances, criminal acts are possible, and evil casts a black shroud over us all. It becomes the responsibility of the artist to rededicate themselves to their work and to continue to shed light into dark places.

What about the importance of mentors?

BM: I have sought the wisdom and advice of those select few, whose own work soars above the rest. But it can be tricky. The great fear is to become a clone of that individual, and have their ideas overshadow your own. That would be a loss.
Bruce Davidson comes to mind. I have had the privilege of knowing this artist up close and will always treasure our in depth conversations. I have been inspired by his drive and enthusiasm for each project that he embraces, and the exuberance in his voice when he speaks about photography. Since my roots are in drawing and painting, I also revere the work of artists that I never met: David Hockney, and photographer, filmmaker and painter, Rudy Burckhardt and Giotto, who was centuries ahead of his time.

© Bruce Davidson, New York City. Harlem. 1966. Children looking out their window into the alley.

Is there any show you’ve seen recently that you find inspiring?

BM: It is so difficult to pick one exhibition: one show to point to as a favorite. The amount of art that one consumes living in New York, or by going online is just overwhelming. Nevertheless, I can mention a few. There were Edvard Munch and David Hockney exhibitions at the Metropolitan Museum (that I viewed this past year) which were very memorable. Opening this past month, Bruce Davidson’s new exhibition of his vintage prints is pure poetry.

About your work now, your own visual exploration and your personal methodology nowadays?

BM: I do not consider myself a “writer” or author in the classic sense. I am a visual artist. However, my long term projects have relied to some degree on the written word; the idea that photography and language could be woven together. Because of this, I have had mentors. There is my friend and mentor Phillip Lopate, as well as the great American interviewer Studs Terkel. Terkel’s expertise in engaging people in meaningful conversations has served as a guide in many of my projects.

In my lifetime the materials needed to produce analog photographs continue to disappear. As a result, I am turning to digital solutions in the production of my images. Currently, I am working on a large scale commercial project for a landmark building at the very tip of Manhattan. For this commission, the director selected images to tell the story (in extraordinarily large murals) of the Lower Manhattan waterfront and its importance to the history of New York. The whole project was produced digitally and printed on a synthetic product.

In your portfolio, I detect a fascination for buildings and structures. One of the series that well expresses this attraction is 'Structures in Space', a collection of houses, silhouettes, somehow definitions of habitable dimensions, modes of interaction with space. Likewise 'Industrial' is an abacus of different topographic production typologies. Tell me more.

BM: Structures in Space is an ongoing project that reflects my preoccupation with houses and industrial buildings. In my mind’s eye, these subjects are metaphors for “something else”. The pictures illustrate a gamut of human emotions evoking melancholy, loneliness, and a sense of isolation. I am also fascinated by windows and vanishing points. In psychological terms, a window can be synonymous with exploring the chambers of the mind, while vanishing points, lines leading towards or away from the horizon, can suggest feelings of uncertainty and unpredictability. My "industrial portfolio" is similar in theme. I am looking for the beauty and mystery in these subjects as many of them are now considered obsolete and in the way.

BM: I have so many works to realize and finish including a new edition of “South Street”, the publishing and printing of twenty years of images from a portfolio titled “New York City On Foot”, editing for a new work completely shot on the i phone titled “Coming and Going”, and I am drawing again. The work and dreams of a creative person are infinite. I will end with the words of the American poet Robert Frost. In his famous work, “Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening” he wrote,”…. and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep”. I truly love that.

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LINKS
Barbara Mensch
Urbanautica United States

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