A Candid Eye

Cuny Janssen is regarded as one of the foremost portrait photographers in The Netherlands.
Her specialization is 'children in their own surroundings', which makes it doubly intriguing that her most recent book doesn't contain a single portrait of a child.

Text:  Arno Haijtema                                                                                               
Photos:  Cuny Janssen

 
It was a frightening moment for Cuny Janssen in the spring of 2012. 'I'd come to Naples to photograph children. Suddenly a thought crossed my mind: Okay, here I am, focusing my camera on a child. I wait for an engaging pose and then press the button. Done. Another successful photo. Does this mean that it's time for me to stop?' Shortly afterwards, Janssen was invited to select the ten best photos out of her entire oeuvre for a coming exposition. 'I started going through my work, but I soon realized that it was an impossible task. My photos were shot all over the world. How on earth could I ever make a choice?'

For the past twelve years Cuny Janssen (37) has traveled extensively – in India, North America, Japan, Macedonia, Iran, and South Africa – in order to photograph children in their own surroundings. 'My motives have changed very little since those early days. I still want to discover the world, and to portray the complexity of the family of Man. Since I'm most comfortable when I have a focus, I specialize in children's portraits. My main motivation is curiosity:  I try to fathom the personality of each individual child. I portray them first and foremost for myself, but also because I hope that other people will be intrigued by these portraits.'

 

Janssen devotes herself to a variety of projects, including travel, photo shoots, selection, books, and exhibitions. And with considerable success. Her work is featured in prominent museums and respected galleries. So when one day a little voice says 'Isn't it time to stop?', that can give rise to anxiety. 'Maybe you ought to slow down. So you don't get into a rut.' Remember that old song called Uncle John's Band by the Grateful Dead: 'When life looks like Easy Street, there is danger at your door.'

 

In a sense, she is relieved that there are no photos of children in her new book, Yoshino. It consists solely of landscapes: majestic prints which capture the overpowering, untouched beauty of the Japanese countryside. Some of the photos were taken in the spring, when thousands of cherry trees – planted on the orders of an emperor – were in full bloom, and others in the fall, when their leaves briefly turned a vibrant red. Jos Vos, a writer and Japanese-to-Dutch translator, collaborated with Janssen on Yoshino, contributing a collection of poems and stories in which Japanese writers through the ages have manifested their devotion to Yoshino.

The two constants in Janssen's work are landscapes and portraits of children. In her drafty top-floor studio overlooking one of Amsterdam's most culturally diverse neighborhoods, she leafs through a book, pointing out details: the play of light on trees, the inscrutable gaze of a young Japanese girl. "Just look at her expression – it's timeless (as if she's bowed down by the weight of centuries)." Examining her own work and that of others, Janssen tries to convey what motivates her.'
 
When did you decide that you wanted to be a photographer … or an artist?
'I used to draw a lot, and I loved copying. As a child I played the piano, and found that I was able to express myself in music. Now I can tell that my six-year-old daughter has the same romantic leanings!  Even then I knew that I wanted to go to a school where I could learn to express myself, to formulate my ideas, and ultimately to enjoy the satisfaction of knowing I had succeeded. It didn't really matter how. Writing, painting, photography… it made no difference, as long as it involved creating something beautiful. The academy of art proved to be the right place to realize my ambitions.'
 
In the art world a striving for beauty is often regarded as suspect. For some artists, there has to be an element that grates, something somber or bleak.
'Ultimately I realized – first unconsciously and later consciously – that my work would have to be rooted in beauty. My photographs represent a search for the source of life itself. Beauty becomes suspect when you set out to esthetize your work, to make a photograph more attractive than it already is. Then you lose your credibility. In my photos there's always an element of mystery. Beauty is a means of getting to grips with that mystery.
Janssen quotes from a letter she received in response to Yoshino: 'You're not afraid of beauty as given.' It was from the well-known landscape photographer Robert Adams. I was immensely pleased with his comment, since that is exactly what my work is about: a positive response to life.'
 
The children you photograph often have an entire life behind them: war, flights, narrow escapes. Many of them are traumatized.
'Those are not the things I'm looking for. What drives me is a simple urge to capture the attention of that one child. It's the same as with animals – you can't just pounce on them. You have to be patient. The child senses that I am honest and sincere, and instinctively responds by returning my attention.
I always talk to the parents beforehand, and explain exactly what I'm trying to achieve. If they have no objections – which is usually the case – then the child feels comfortable too. While I am having this conversation with the parents, the children usually go off and play. This is what I've been waiting for, the moment when they are totally themselves. If I'm planning to stay for a longer period, I prefer to live with a family. That way, people get to know me and feel comfortable having me around.

As I prepare to take the photo, I can often tell that the child is wondering just who this woman is! But when they realize that I'm sincere, they are eager to cooperate. I look for a pose that seems natural. I'm constantly touching the child, who can see that I'm getting more and more enthusiastic, and that I can't hide my excitement. Then I try to get the child to strike a pose that appeals to me. Since it takes time to focus my technical camera, I shoot one photo at the time. The problem is that a natural pose is usually assumed unconsciously, which makes it hard to recall. But usualy the children are very willing to find the right pose with me. It is an intense process and that intensity shows through in my photos.'
 
Can you tell by looking at these children that they've experienced terrible things?
'That's something I've often asked myself. There's a danger in interpreting something 'after the fact', since you may read things in their eyes that aren't there. Diane Arbus has written movingly about capturing the expression on the face of a newborn baby. He sees things and each one seems wonderful, not for its significance in relation to other things, but simply because it is unique and because it is there. A baby does not judge, he only sees. I always hope that my photos will show the same directness I experience in my contact with children. In that contact I always feel I am touched by life itself, a source that will always remain a mystery.'

'In Macedonia I took photos on both sides of the conflict: among the Macedonians and the Albanians, and also the gypsies. I wanted to find out how it had come to such a fierce stand-off between the various parties. After talking to all of them I understood why they reasoned as they did. In the end, I resolved not to focus on problems, but on things like survival, what it means to be human, which is something you can see in your actual contact with a child.'
 
Your photos seem to take shape spontaneously. But I understand that this is not the case?
'A photo is the result of our collaboration. On condition that you see what I find there. Only then can you trust the image. I have to rely on what's there. I never manipulate a photo.'
 
Do you regard your work as documentary?
'Not in the sense that I can claim to have proved something, or that my research makes use of academic methods. Definitely not. For me it's pure interest. But the context of my photos does have a documentary aspect. That context is important in that it lends added meaning.  And I am engaged: I feel that I have a commitment to these children.'
 
But if you're searching for the essence of life, what is the added value of photographing children who are going through a difficult period?

'In difficult times we see how resilient these children are. In the spring and summer of last year I spent some time photographing children in Naples. During the summer months everyone fled the city to escape the heat. The children who remained – because they had nowhere else to go – were the ones I wanted to photograph. Those children weren't pathetic. They were simply who they were.'

Janssen shows me photos of those Neapolitan children. There is one of a girl on the beach, in the shadow of a rock ... her face has a lovely warm glow. 'The heat of the whole month is on her cheeks.' In another photo we see two little boys, probably gypsies. In their faded shirts, they pose in front of a delivery van: strong, but without bravura. 'I never focus on the vulnerability of children.'
 
The children in your photographs appear to be well-balanced. Don't you ever come across little brats or out-and-out bad kids?

'Some of these children are scarred, usually because of the way they've been treated by adults. That can result in bad conduct and even meanness. Yes, there are some brats, but the reason they misbehave is always worse than their own conduct.'

 

Now that I have children of my own, I know how vulnerable they are. That's something I never realized before they were born. I have two autonomous children who will soon go their own way, and there isn't a lot I can do about that. But I'm aware of how much power and influence we have over our offspring and their well-being. There's also some truth in the old saying that a mother's suffering begins on the day her first child is born!

Professionally, there are sometimes complicating factors. I'm always an outsider, someone who comes to photograph the children and then goes away again. I make sure to send them a photo, but I'm not sure what good that is. I do explain to the parents that I'm not an activist and that I can't offer them any help. And yet they rarely display any reservations. They share their concerns with me, but they understand that their worries are not the focus of my work.'
 
What is the connection between your portraits of children and your landscapes?

'In a practical sense, the landscape is always part of my journey, no matter where I go. In Why People Photograph, Robert Adams focuses on the elements of time, light, and quiet in19th-century landscape photos. When I read that, I thought 'Hey, those are the same themes as in my landscapes' – although in my case the term 'timelessness' might be more fitting.
One of the most intriguing attributes of nature is its indifference. No matter what happens, nature continues to grow, like mankind itself. Everything in nature is biologically determined, and yet we never cease to be moved by what we see. In a landscape I find myself searching – often at length – for the energy of creation. Sometimes there is a moment, a tree, a pattern ... or perhaps a certain light in which I recognize something. Something that is incomprehensible. That is the moment I've been waiting for. While my two-year-old daughter sometimes picks up a little plant and simply looks at it, without wondering about its meaning, I try to discover a direct link to that mystery.'
 
Would you say that thematically there's not that much difference between your portraits and your landscapes?
'Well, landscapes don't communicate with me – unlike children! the countryside doesn't react to my presence. Although in a metaphorical sense, I often come across something. In the case of a child, I invariably have to overcome some barrier in order to achieve the desired result. The essence of what I'm searching for is the same, and perhaps that's the reason that during my travels it's easy for me to combine the two.  'While I was in South Africa, I lived and worked in a primeval landscape, where you wouldn't be surprised to run into a couple of dinosaurs. Between sunset and the moment when everything went totally dark, there was a kind of mellow glow. When I photographed a certain plant, its surface seemed to radiate astrange lucidity. But to see it, you had to be in a special spot at just the right moment, when the circumstances were ideal. And you had to adopt a very receptive attitude ...  It's strange to hear myself saying this, since it's actually contrary to the notion that the landscape doesn't communicate!'
 
Isn't there a danger that, with all its beauty, your work will become risk-free?
'That's a sensitive issue. Last fall at the exhibition Paris Photo, I saw a number of magnificent photos. I was so enthusiastic that I called my husband over to look at them. His comment was that the work lacked an 'angle', and suddenly I realized that that was what I wanted to hear. It's something I have to guard against in my own work. I try to keep my portraits from becoming too decorative, too picturesque. For example, by focusing on children in difficult situations.' 
 
Is it conceivable that one day you may shift your focus from children to adults?
'All adults have to some extent been shaped by life, and have already developed their own survival mechanisms. It's difficult to break through such mechanisms. Adults are no longer open-minded, so that sometimes I find photographing them a bit dull. Children, on the other hand, often kindle my own open-mindedness. Sometimes I'm quite naive, while at other times I sense that that my naivety is waning, for example when I have negative thoughts about people. I don't want that. But in any case, I expect to go on photographing children for the rest of my life. It's something I never tire of. It's not actually a project ... more like a structure that keeps me on a certain path.

My work often involves finding a balance between cruelty and beauty. Both elements continue to appear in my photos. Even in landscapes, since nature is itself violent and merciless. But just as I search for the eternal in nature, I concentrate on servival and positive aspects when I'm photographing children whose lives are overshadowed by poverty or war. I don't try to make things look better than they are. What I'm looking for is authenticity.' 

CUNY JANSSEN'S ROLE MODELS

Thomas Struth

'My first eye-openers were Struth's portraits, which I first saw at the Stedelijk Museum in Amsterdam in the late nineties. They made me aware of how I look at people. I thought to myself: This is it! I realize now that what I was drawn to was above all the intimacy of many of his portraits, despite the fact that he always remains at a respectful distance.'
(Photo: The Horsfield Family, London, 1989. ©Thomas Struth)
 
Robert Adams
'Adams focuses on the beauty and the loss of the American landscape. His book Why People Photograph had a decisive influence on me. After reading his essays on Judith Joy Ross and Susan Meiselas, I realized that reading about other photographers and artists is one of the most important things you can do outside of photography itself. Without reflection there is no meaning.'
 
Bruce Davidson
'The combination of loss and beauty in Robert Adams' work is also evident in the photos of Bruce Davidson. What appeals to me is the fact that his work addresses not only grief and despair, but also dignity and pride. His series East 100th Street moves me. I recognize myself in his desire to be admitted to a life that is unknown to him.'
 
Fazal Sheikh
'I first saw Sheikh's photo at the group exhibition Cruel and Tender at the Ludwig Museum in Cologne in 2003. His portraits of people, including children in refugee camps, impressed me by their directness and their respect. Like Davidson, he searches out people who are seen as part of the masses, and lends them individuality and dignity.'
(Photo: Shamsa and MokaAbdi. © Fazal Scheikh)
 
Thomas Struth on Janssen
While she was still in college Cuny Janssen worked as an intern with the German photographer Thomas Struth, a scion of the famous Düsseldorf Schule. She still regards him as one of her role models. And as behooves a master, Struth is both enthusiastic and critical in his assessment of Janssen's new book Yoshino. 'Cuny always runs the risk of falling in love with her subject. This is evident in some of the photos in Yoshino. The landscapes in the front of the book are stereotypical of the fairy-tale Japan, with its mountains and cherry blossoms. Admittedly, she makes them more powerful by choosing just the right combinations.'

The most engrossing photos are those at the back. The one in which the viewer is looking down on a group of people relaxing in the midst of nature is noteworthy for both composition and viewpoint. There's another photo, a cherry tree in bloom with a parked car underneath, which has an interesting composition because of the reflection of its branches on the wall.

In general, Cuny's portraits are more convincing than her landscapes. She knows how to capture the presence of an individual, and to press the button at the decisive moment. Like Rineke Dijkstra and Hellen van Meene, she follows a tradition of Dutch portrait painters that goes back to Rembrandt and Frans Hals.

 

CV  Cuny Janssen (37)

 

1996-2000         Hogeschool voor de Kunsten (HKU), Utrecht
1998                  Hochschule der Künste, Berlin
1999                  Internship with photographer Thomas Struth in Düsseldorf
2000                  First book:  India
2002                  Second prize, Prix de Rome Photography
2010                  Solo exhibition at FOAM in Amsterdam and De Pont in Tilburg
2013                  Yoshino, Janssen's eighth book, published by Snoeck Verlag (€ 78) 

Also available via cunyjanssen.nl  

Cuny Janssen is married to gallery owner, photographer and art historian Paul Andriesse.  They have two daughters.