In contrast, in the portrait of Lin Hwai-min, renowned choreographer and founder of the Cloud Gate Dance Theatre, one eye seems to penetrate through his oval glasses and the camera lens into the hearts of viewers, forcing them into reflect upon themselves.
Both pictures appear in the exhibition “Faces Talk—Tseng Miin-shyong Portrait Photography” at the Taipei Fine Arts Museum, which will run until Jan. 17. Each of the 116 black-and-white portraits on display seems to speak to the viewer with a silent strength that defies human mortality.
“I try to capture the most essential element in a person, the moment when the truth about their life, joy and suffering shines through,” Tseng said Dec. 21.
Capturing such moments requires great patience and exhausting pursuit of the subject. When Lin’s photo was taken, he was not posing for Tseng, but watching dancers practice in Cloud Gate’s later-burned-down dance studio in Bali Township, Taipei County in 2003. Lin put a hand over one eye to avoid the glare of the 500-watt bulb Tseng set up to one side for better lighting.
Chance presented itself when the photographer made a daring move and barred Lin’s view by stepping in front of him like a guerilla fighter, snapping off two quick shots. The result is a pensive look that reveals the thinker within one of Taiwan’s most influential personalities.
It is through many such calculated yet bold steps that Tseng has built up an impressive body of work, recording Taiwan’s great and respected figures. The collective result prompted painter Chuang Che to compare Tseng to Yousuf Karsh, the Armenian-Canadian master of portrait photography.
The most daring move in the life of the 42-year-old Tseng, in retrospect, was probably the one into the field of photography. Although he had taught himself the art in 1996, Tseng was initially just an amateur, with his real work, he felt, being anchor of a classical music radio program and owner of an audio and hi-fi equipment store. The 7.3-magnitude earthquake that shook Taiwan Sept. 21, 1999, however, destroyed Tseng’s business and changed the course of his life.
“The four walls were literally squeezed and distorted, and all my assets were reduced to zero,” he said. The quake almost crushed him physically and psychologically.
“I had nothing left to lose nor anything to rebuild.” When art historian Xie Li-fa, whose assistant had chanced to see some of Tseng’s pictures, proposed to enlist his help in shooting portraits of artists in central Taiwan shortly after the earthquake, Tseng picked up his camera only with great uncertainty.
While the income from this project was minimal, the results were satisfactory, and one project led to another.
In 2001, sculptor Ju Ming asked Tseng to photograph his famous Tai Chi series. Later commending Tseng as the photographer in Taiwan who “deserves the most attention,” Ju continued to commission the young artist to produce photos of his sculpture work.
The idea of photographing “the hundred Taiwanese of the century” came to Tseng while his financial basis was still tottering. He borrowed money from a bank to start the project in 2002.
“I have had so many doubts since the earthquake. I asked myself, if one natural disaster, in less than a minute, can snap away all you have accumulated in 10 years, what can you really do and what do you really want?” Tseng said.
Tseng never expected photography to provide any answers, but the technical and artistic processes surprised him. “I found relief and peace in the very moment of pressing the shutter,” he said.
His passion for photographing people grew as he shot more and more. He has captured more than 300 accomplished men and women on film, including musicians, writers, scientists, statesmen, political activists and religious leaders. And he seems to have no intention of concluding.
“I learn from the people I photograph.” One instance is composer Li Tai-hsiang. Suffering from Parkinson’s disease for 20 years, Li bore the invasions of the illness bravely, by insisting on remaining as controlled and clear-minded as possible and composing while he could.
“I could not bear to watch how he did this, but the insight into art he demonstrated proved his very talent and perseverance,” Tseng said. “Compared with what he has endured, my troubles are not even worth mentioning.” Eventually, Tseng set aside his profession as a sound expert for one that demands visual sensibility.
Still in debt, Tseng’s passion for portraiture just continues to grow. He works incessantly to record the life in human faces before it is too late. Indeed, the impermanence of human life seems always to loom in the portraits, which were not intended to please the subjects being photographed. Yet that is probably why the moments of life’s strength revealed in Tseng’s portraits are so dear. (THN)
Write to June Tsai at june@mail.gio.gov.tw