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Monografía
Aperture, New York, NY, 2024. 232 pp., 166 images, 8½x10½".
How is it that Louis Carlos Bernal has never had a proper monograph before now? The late master was revered as “the father of Chicano art photography.” But his influence extended beyond his Mexican/American heritage. He was a major figure in the 70s and 80s, first in his native Arizona and then nationally. He founded the photography program at Pima Community College in Tucson, where he supervised and taught. Over a career spanning roughly two decades, he received numerous awards, commissions, articles, and collaborations, earning his archive eventual placement at the Center for Creative Photography in Tucson.
All fine. But for those seeking his work in printed form, the trail is thin. His photos have only appeared to date in scattered publications, tucked away in journals or magazines. For various reasons he did not publish any monographs during his lifetime. And no one has taken up the mantle since his death in 1993.
Better late than never. Aperture’s eponymous tome Louis Carlos Bernal makes up for lost time in one fell swoop. This career survey finally confers full retrospective treatment on Bernal, with hundreds of photographs, multiple essays, press clippings, a biographical timeline, and snapshots from his life. In the spirit of Bernal’s bilingual heritage, the texts are in English and Spanish. The book is published in conjunction with a major retrospective at CCP in Tucson, on display from September 14th, 2024, through January 25th, 2025.
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For those who can’t visit CCP in person, Aperture’s book is a fair substitute. After a small flurry of introductory photographs, exhibition curator Elizabeth Ferrer dives in with a lengthy overview of Bernal’s life and work. If you don’t yet know much about Bernal, Ferrer’s essay is a good starting point. She weaves a history from his birth in Douglas, Arizona to his military service, grad school, and early mentorships. From this point his career ascended inexorably, blending teaching, documentary studies, and regular stabs into the insular world of museums, galleries, and recognition.
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As with many photographers working in the art trenches, Bernal’s spent much of his career plagued by a sense of under appreciation. He came from a minority culture, documented neglected barrios, and lived far from any major art capitals. If he developed a chip on his shoulder against the gallery set, that was understandable. Bernal’s delicate dance with respect, accomplishment, and financial livelihood is one of the main through lines in Ferrer’s bio. In response to those inquiries, this belated monograph might finally offer a sense of closure.
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The other through line is of course Bernal’s photographs. The book plucks representative groupings from various projects, tracing a rough chronology from 1972 to 1989. All are faithfully reprinted, even if they preserve occasional film-era imperfections such as C-print color casts or heavy-handed shadows. They trace a timeline of Bernal’s styles from abstract to conceptual to formal records and street photography, initially in monochrome and later in warm color. The selection spotlights this sequence of interests, making increasingly assured probes into environmental portraiture. It’s here that Bernal’s primary focus would settle for the bulk of his career. As evidenced by the cover photograph — the iconic image Dos Mujeres, Douglas, Arizona, 1978 — he developed into a master of the genre.
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Many of Bernal’s in situ portraits were shot close to home in Arizona, in the barrios of Tucson, Douglas, or Phoenix. Speaking fluent Spanish, he made easy connections with potential subjects. He liked to position people in or near their homes, where their gardens, furniture, wall hangings, framed pictures (a particular fascination), TVs, curtains, tools, and Christmas lights could help him tell their backstories. Bernal’s wide-angle lens captured tracts of raw information, weaving tales of memory, salvage, ritual, and routine. In several cases the settings alone sufficed, and he dispatched with humans to shoot empty domestic interiors. In a couple of photographs, a simple collection of mascara on a dresser is enough to describe a person. Regardless of subject, he was a wiz with technique. His photographs apply mixed lighting, color, compositional layering, and framing easily, and in distinctive style.
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With over a hundred photographs, Aperture’s tome is a great introduction to Bernal’s oeuvre. This book will be a treat for any fans of portraiture or Southwest photography. But Bernal’s pictures may not even be the main highlight. For me, the photographs of Bernal himself are perhaps even more magnetic. Several old snapshots are reproduced throughout the book. A photo of the Bernal family in 1940s Arizona has a quiet majesty. He is later shown in high school posing with his camera. Another picture shows him mustached by a mural, and there he is with Manual Alvarez Bravo, both being photographed by Graciela Iturbide. Sifting these old prints is a pleasure. It turns out Bernal was photographed plenty by others, and even rubbed shoulders with photo royalty. If he felt under-appreciated, that was never quite true. Louis Carlos Bernal should be the final nail in that misconception.
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