The New Yorker recently ( May 12) had a fascinating article about Pascal Dangin, pixel-manipulater extraordinaire.

 “Pixel perfect” by Lauren Collins relates how Dangin has become the “premier retoucher of fashion photographs.” Ensconced in his windowless lair , known as “Las Vegas” because it’s always three a.m in the dark night of image manipulation, Pascal wields his “triptych” of  computers all equipped with Photoshop as he and his assistants refine the work of many photographers, including Patrick Demarchelier, Steven Meisel, and Philip-Lorca diCorcia. You see Dangin’s work but you don’t see it because Pascal operates in the shadow of anonymity so you’d never know that the March 2008 issue of Vogue featured 144 images ‘tweaked’ by Pascal including the cover photograph of Drew Barrymore.

 

 

All this is not so surprising despite the sheer quantity which is a bit unsettling because image manipulation in the service of commerce has had an honorable and no so honorable history long before the advent of Photoshop. In the 19th century it was fairly common despite the difficulties of execution, and in our time, Hugh Hefner boldly used the  techniques of airbrushing to define his surreal concept of the “girl next door”.  

 

Playmate Katie Price from Playboy, September 2002

photography by Stephen Wayda and Arny Freytag

click image to enlarge

 

Now of course, cut-and-paste and airbrushing techniques are all relics of history and instead we have Pascal Dangin and crew dancing in front of their glowing computer screens as they transform Drew Barrymore into someone completely unrecognizable. 

It might be expected that photo retouchers wield their art in  the case of advertising and fashion images. But their involvement in the production of fine-art seems to be a more recent phenomenon. There is a big difference between magazine reproductions and original prints in a gallery selling for many thousands of dollars, and the possibility that people like Pascal Dangin are involved in the making of these expensive art objects raises the issue of  an active collaboration. For some time the line between fashion and fine art photography has been occasionally blurred but having Pascal wield his anonymous talents makes it even blurrier, especially when a photographers such as Philip-Lorca diCorcia is involved, a man primarily known for his fine-art work.

 

Philip-Lorca diCorcia:  Marc Jabobs

 

“Technology is in many respects mechanical, but somebody’s got to run the machine,” said DiCorcia as quoted by writer Lauren Collins. “…Pascal is tireless in exploiting all the capabilities of the technology and even possibly creating some new capabilities.” 

“Somebody’s got to run the machine”? I thought that somebody was the photographer. And what exactly are those “new capabilities”? Maybe the real question is when does the artisan becomes the artist? Are we at the point where the artist supplies the ideas and the Dangins of the world do the work? Of course, except in the case of the most minimalist of Duchampian work ( an area where execution is irrelevant), the execution of the idea is an inseparable part of the art itself.

Until fairly recently it was understood that photographers were artists responsible for all aspects of their production: they took the photographs, developed the film and made their own prints ( with a few notable exceptions such as Henri Cartier-Bresson) and even in some cases, made their own frames for exhibitions.

But with the advent of so-called ‘photo-based art’ it has become increasingly evident that the photographer steps aside after taking the picture; the making of the fine-art object involves the handiwork of a shadowy coterie of retouchers, printers, exhibition designers and framers. For some reason, we don’t inquire who made these large-scale prints and we don’t query the nature of the interaction between artist and artisan; we simply assume the artist retains control of the final product especially as those assisting in “postproduction work” are rarely credited.

 

Inez van Lamsweerde: Installation

Click image to enlarge

 

 All of which is a consequence of photography being assimilated into the larger world of fine-art; after all, we don’t expect sculptors to cast their own bronzes and since the early renaissance painters have used assistants to paint part of their canvases. Writers have their editors, and movie directors work with a team of film editors and producers, and now photographers have their Pascal Dangins.

I only know of one gallery that openly acknowledges the relationship between artist and printer and that is the David Adamson Gallery in Washington. If there are others I stand corrected.  Adamson, whose gallery is as much an atelier as it is a gallery, proudly displays the work of such artists as William Christenberry and Cluck Close while acknowledging and indeed promoting, his role as the printer of these works.

 

Chuck Close, Kara

Pigment print, 19×25

Courtesy David Adamson Editions

 

So is there any difference between making the best digital print possible under the supervision of the artist and Dangin’s active role in the digital enhancement of the print? Or is such work  simply a continuation of old darkroom techniques such as altering tones by subtracting or adding light? 

From my reading of the New Yorker article, it appears that Pascal Dangin has upped the ante. His work seems to go far beyond conventional darkroom techniques and instead of merely enhancing, he also interprets.  If that’s the case,  his role as co-conspirator definitely needs to be acknowledged.

As the collaborative aspect of fine-art photography becomes increasingly evident, it would seem the role of the photographer is increasingly diminished. But ironically as his or her role in the production of the art object shrinks, the photographer’s value as a name, a brand, almost exponentially expands.