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You gotta be niii-ce
to the reporter!” says 19-year-old Romain, who likes to make his friends laugh. And
he knows all about what behind a good image. He and all the enthused amateur photographers
at the Balalaika workshop in the suburb of Bourtzwiller, outside Mulhouse (see box), are ready, even eager to
answer “the reporter’s” questions. They seem happy to talk, to be listened to, to
show off their work. They’re pleased to be known and appreciated.
About 40 per cent of this suburb’s 15,000 inhabitants vote for the extreme right-wing
National Front and these youngsters, mostly of North African origin, voice in words
the very things they strive to show in their pictures.
“They have a quiet attitude to life,” says Eric Vazzoler, the photographer who runs
the workshop. “They rarely take pictures of burnt-out cars.” The youths insist photography
hasn’t “saved” them from a so-called “sordid universe,” as some articles have claimed.
But everyone has found something in it to match their needs. It has given them pleasure
and self-confidence, and they have stopped being afraid of what other people think.
It has also opened up a new social and cultural horizon, a new world of imagination.
Like many youths, those in Mulhouse are anxious to meet people and have new experiences.
But they are also hesitant, torn between family ties and the call of the outside
world, between love of photography, which requires devotion and time, and love itself,
which takes them elsewhere. Here is a sample of their thoughts.
Samir, 16, training in car maintenance:
“I’ve been taking photos for two years now. I take pictures of everything—of my
family and especially my friends. It’s pure pleasure. Once you’ve done photography
yourself, you don’t see other people’s photos in the same way any more. You look
at them more carefully and search for a message.”
Samia, 22, studying management:
“With Eric, we do printing and developing. You’ve got to be serious and learn
how to do it. We’ve seen how we can do it all ourselves and on top of that our work’s
getting recognized.
The articles they’ve written about us say that ‘thanks to photography, they’ve got
themselves out of a rut.’ That’s not true. Anyone can come to the workshop but not
everybody does. You don’t need to be saved just because you live in a poor neighbourhood.
One paper said burnt-out cars were part of our daily lives, but that’s not true either.
They’re interested in us because we live in a place like this. People say: ‘Look
at where they come from and yet they still manage to take photos.’ Or else it’s:
‘That’s how those neighbourhoods are!’ So they’re either trying to see through our
eyes or else they think we’ve been saved.
Through taking photos I’ve made new friends. Before, I would never have gone to an
exhibition. Nowadays, I walk in, look and talk with people from different social
backgrounds.
Once a photographer rang me from Germany to buy one of my pictures. I was proud.
My parents were too and told everyone about it. Eventually I’d like to have my own
photo lab if I have the money. But I don’t want to be a professional photographer.
It’s too hard.”
Nagi, 26, works with a maintenance company:
“I came here from Tunisia four years ago and I didn’t have any friends. I’d already
done a little photography in Tunisia, and I kept it up. It’s helped me to find out
how people live here and to meet people. I like the atmosphere of the photo lab even
though there are some tricky moments with Eric. Sometimes I don’t like what he says.
But it’s taught me I have my faults, that I’m stubborn.”
Kamel, 19, training to service machinery and computers:
“I’ve loved everything to do with pictures since I was little, when I dreamt of
being a film producer. The photo workshop has been a godsend. Especially when I found
out it only cost $5 a year to join.
Photography’s classy. When you do it, you meet different people, from other social
classes. The lab is also fun. We have a really good time there. Before, when I looked
at a photo, it didn’t mean anything to me. Now I know how to criticize my own photos
and other people’s. I’ve learned how to defend my perspective and my work. We don’t
get much chance to exhibit what we do, but we can help to change the image of young
people.
When I tell people I take pictures, everyone’s amazed. Hip-hop is seen as normal,
but photography surprises people. They think this must be a good guy and they’re
less afraid of me.
Once, I was stopped going into a nightclub. My face must not be the right shade of
colour. I got out my camera and as soon as they saw I’d come to take pictures for
free, they opened the door. Another time, I worked for someone who did body-painting.
I was paid for it and I felt recognized.
As soon as there’s a project, I’m interested. I can see myself doing it for a living
but not as a photo-journalist or a portrait photographer. I’d like to be an artistic
photographer. You’re freer. My goal is to develop my own style and make a name for
myself.”
Sandrine, 18, training in commercial management:
“At last I have a passion. Before, I wasn’t doing much of anything. I was pretty
self-absorbed. Now I have friends. The hardest part is to accept the criticism of
Eric and the others, because I’m personally attached to the photos I take. For a
while, I even stopped taking them. Then I started again. I got a bit of self-confidence.”
Jamel, 24, studying at the Mulhouse art school:
“I’m the one who does all the graffiti art in the neighbourhood. I go by the name
‘Serio’ because S, E and R are the letters I draw best and also because they remind
me of the word ‘serious.’ I started out wanting to study music but the equipment’s
expensive. So I got into painting. I’ll need photography at least until the end of
my time at art school. I’m interested in images. I think about them all the time.”
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Balalaika’s Photographers
One day, art photographer Eric Vazzoler decided
that he’d had enough traipsing around Paris trying to sell his work, mainly about
the former Soviet Union. So he agreed to take charge of a “neighbourhood cultural
project” in the northern suburb of Mulhouse, in eastern France, and not surprisingly,
gave his workshop a Russian name. Projects like these were started by the Ministry
of Culture in 1996 to try to “reduce social divisions.”
“I was going to stay seven months, but I’ve been here nearly four years now,”says
Eric, 37. He’s about to move on, but his project has lasted longer than all the others
and been much praised. There have been exhibitions in France and other countries,
generous press coverage and a book soon to be published.
The youngsters credit Eric with its success. “He isn’t easy and he’s demanding to
work with, but what a pro!” they say. “We can always knock on his door at 11 o’clock
at night to get a roll of film.”
Eric, who lives in the neighbourhood, is more modest. “When I arrived here, there
was nothing. I filled a gap, and I have the cream of the crop. The really disturbed
kids can’t take the studious atmosphere of the lab.” And in his gruff but kindly
way, he adds: “Their pictures are very nicely composed. They’ve got a distinct style.
They’re refreshing and generous. At their age I was busy copying the great masters.
These kids aren’t influenced by anyone.” Except by Eric, of course.
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