The Personal and Merciless Intensity of a John Deakin Photograph

I was recently asked by a fellow art blogger to choose my favorite photographer. I responded that I would have to think long and hard on that one as an abundance of photographers have inspired me to work harder at my own craft of which I will admit is not one craft but many. I immediately thought of photographers of the nude form such as Edward Weston and young Robert Maxwell who I admire for their great work, their seriousness and respect they have for their models, and their final prints. I considered the texture I love so much in fine photography from artists such as Minor White and Evelyn Hofer. The insanely disturbing images produced for us by Diane Arbus. The fantastic and historical portraits taken by Gerard Malanga and Richard Avedon. I paused for some time to consider the personal stories that added so much to the photographs of other favorites such as Clarence H. White, Harry Callahan, and Imogen Cunningham, knowing that all of these photographers mentioned above were indeed worthy of being my all-time favorite, but one in particular somehow always stood above these giants of the field. No other photographer has given me more satisfaction throughout my life than John Deakin. He has challenged me to see my subjects better whether I am working in verse, paint, or photography, and to produce an image that stays with me, unhinged by a lack of formal training, and always experimental as I am constantly finding new uses for button and dials I find on both my camera and my mind. It makes the poetry flow more naturally not knowing the correct way to fashion it. It makes for good playtime, and follows sequentially a unique and profound frustration in doing things you know must must must be done the wrong way.

John Deakin has remained my favorite photographer for several years now. Commissioned by Francis Bacon to provide images from which to draw inspiration and detail from, Bacon used these images to produce several extreme works of art he certainly is now famous for. Observed side by side it is apparent that Deakin provided a deeper insight for Bacon with these cruel but still beautiful depictions of people both artists were familiar with on a day to day basis. It has been remarked that Deakin produced truth unwrapped and unpackaged, with no pretense to flattery.

Although fired twice from Vogue , Deakin amassed a catalog of work unmatched by others given the same scope and time frame in which to produce it. He began taking pictures in 1939 and gave up photography sometime in the mid 60's. He always maintained his real calling was for painting, but Deakin flitted between several vocations including photography, painting, collages, and sculpture. Deakin died a chronic alcoholic in 1972.

There is a growing body of work evolving now examining the life and work of John Deakin. He has not gained the same level of recognition others in this field of photography have already garnered. It is perhaps fitting to note that Deakin was loved by many and loathed by even more. Francis Bacon is reported to have held John Deakin in the highest esteem, and even quoted saying as much, but he once exclaimed that Deakin was "a horrible little man and not a very good photographer". I am of the opinion that these words of Francis Bacon could be credited to Bacon's own fits of drunkenness and rage, and the outbursts common of the time in that select group of SOHO artists.

Another common reason for Deakin making little historical gain in popularity is that he did not compromise. He made photographs that many of his sitters recoiled from upon seeing them for the first time. Comments offered to describe the work of John Deakin include brutal directness , haunting images , and psychological intensity , all of which favor discounting and evoking disdain for this great artist. Add that Deakin hung with the outcast, the derelict, and the drunken characters frequenting the seedy SOHO neighborhoods, and that he was also prone to embellishing "wildly the known facts", the official deciders of what constitutes great art have been purposely slow to come around.

It is a given that a sloppy drunk doesn't get a whole lot of respect in any society. But it's hard for me to imagine differences between an alcoholic of any type, sloppy or responsible, but our culture seems to have more hatred for the all too-direct derelict. One example of how chronically bad John Deakin had become with his alcohol consumption was one instance of his drinking Parazone bleach instead of what he thought was white wine, which of course landed him in the hospital. But besides the unfortunate life and failure of John Deakin to stick to anything for any length of time, his photographs remain a testament to his superior ability to construct an image from something most others just do not see. For that we can be forever grateful to John Deakin for having the courage to see, to point and shoot, even if his images ended up on the floor, trampled and torn, stained and splattered, all the richer now for us as well, us being there, visiting, trampled and torn, stained and splattered.