For minutes at a time, he stands alone against a blue screen, talking urgently and persuasively into the camera. By 1972, Berger was a well-known, often controversial art critic, novelist and broadcaster, then in his mid-40s. As for the dry-as-dust interpretations in museums, these were designed to mystify the ordinary viewer, lest they grasp the sleight of hand that had been performed.īerger wanted to break those chains, and to do so he performed an enchantment of his own. It was their ownership that was being exalted, and not their intrinsic existence. A landscape was not innocent, and nor was a lobster, let alone a nude of Venus.
These paintings, he told his audience, might look beautiful or eternal, but they were actually produced for the wealthy and well born, to celebrate and solemnise their status. One of the reasons the series is so lastingly influential is that Berger empowers the viewer, transforming them from passive consumer of high culture to detective, stalking venerated artefacts in search of the master key to patriarchal capitalism. He used the European tradition of oil painting as a way of investigating political ideology, unearthing damning evidence of an entrenched and exploitative system in the lovely works of Caravaggio and Leonardo da Vinci. It reached a new tranche of readers last year by way of the American model Emily Ratajkowski, who opened her memoir My Body with Berger’s quote: “You painted a naked woman because you enjoyed looking at her, you put a mirror in her hand and you called the painting Vanity, thus morally condemning the woman whose nakedness you had depicted for your own pleasure.”įrom the very first scene, in which Berger takes a knife to a Botticelli, it was clear that Ways of Seeing was an assault on thoughtless reverence.
According to the novelist Ali Smith, who watched it as a child, “even its title set me on a road where I knew there wasn’t just seeing, there were … ways of it”. Ways of Seeing has inspired generations of writers, artists and curators, spawning academic conferences and tribute programmes. This idiosyncratic documentary, made on a shoestring budget, has been snapping eyes open for half a century. It had a modest audience and few reviews, and yet the anonymous critic was right. “If you are in the least interested in art,” it began, “have your set tuned and be ready to have your eyes opened by John Berger in the first of a stunning new series.” Ways of Seeing was broadcast on BBC Two at the unpromising hour of 10.05pm on a Saturday night, the same time as Match of the Day. O n 2 January 1972, the Sunday Times ran a short preview for a new documentary.
0 kommentar(er)
