Book review: Mirrors Messages Manifestations – Minor White by Murray White

If you read Mirrors Messages Manifestations for a second time you may well think that you have opened the pages of a different book. Of course itís not that the text and images will have changed in themselves, this reaction is a function of the photographic malleability and written ambiguities built in to this exquisite book. And from what I understand of Minor White, he would have it no other way.

Now I am not a student of this quirky American photographer (1908 – 1976), or even a universal admirer of his work, but there is something intriguing about his approach to the craft that this book attempts to reveal. Its presentation with text woven in and around monochromatic plates initially seems traditional, conservative even, that is until you study the works and try to link or otherwise make sense of their content.

In many cases the photographic subjects are uncertain, lack scale, or appear incongruous with the associated text. Even the images that are identifiable share similar traits ñ dramatic, sometimes uncomfortably tight crops, a tendency to favour harsh contrast (irrespective of the lighting), and an apparent ambivalence for image sharpness as a cardinal quality.

Indeed I found very few of the 243 printed images invited me on a gratifying journey of tonality and compositional precision in the way that an Adams or Weston might, but equally there was no suggestion of photographic inadequacy; quite the contrary. Perhaps to Minor White, photography was primarily messaging, and his preferred tool was the technique of concept, a clarity of vision that must be expressed subjectively rather than through a straight-jacket of conventional expectation.

The writings of the man are similarly structured. Numerous diary extracts bring to light spiritual beliefs, his personal principles and broader questions of life itself. To me, none of these snippets remain simple observations, if indeed they can even be seen as such, as they seem to encourage interpretation rather than direct understanding. And their inclusion is not placed in chronological order ñ the progression appears to follow a sequential flow of thought that is shared with a string of choreographed photography.

Although I struggled to comprehend the writings and poetry with any certainty of White’s intent, I found the break between images to be a moment for reset, and a chance to appraise the subsequent plates from a fresh perspective. Had the book been a purely photographic work, I suspect I may have been somewhat disappointed with the experience. I think the elevation of concept over content and flawless technique relies upon a structured pause and chance to reflect.

Throughout this book Minor White appears to breeze in and out of genres as if his message was just as likely to be heard in a portrait as a landscape; in a city street as a tree trunk. Perhaps to him photography was the genre, and the subject simply a vector for his thoughts? I was initially concerned that because I identify as the polar opposite of this, I would have difficulty connecting with his view of the world.

However on closer observation (an act in itself quite fitting to the book’s ethos), I believe there is more value to be found in the introspective journey, rather than seeing the image as an expression of something tangible. On my first reading I was constantly referring the page number to the title references in a largely futile attempt to verify (or even identify) what I was looking at. Gradually I accepted that the ‘what’ was nowhere near as important as the ‘why’, and the creator of this work has cleverly sequenced both words and pictures to mutually occupy a single space for contemplation.

Minor White compiled this work (the most notable book of his lifetime) in 1969 with only a few thousand copies printed. My book is from a reprint by Aperture in 1982, and although I assume many more were printed in that run, they are still difficult to find in good condition, and probably only appeal to a small readership. This is a pity as it is a beautiful book, one of the most compelling in my collection, and certainly one of only a handful that I revisit regularly.