21 january 2017

(Jan once publicly, with a big grin, said that my English was just as bad as his. So this time I’ve taken the precaution of writing out what I’m going to say.)

Dear all,

A few years ago – I still remember it clearly – I had an excited Jan Hoek on the phone. We were working on preparations for his first solo museum exhibition, not long after he graduated from the Rietveld Academy. In between hangings – Jan was transforming a room in Foam into a three-dimensional sketchbook in which he presented ‘Me & My Models’, writing personal texts on the walls to accompany it – he’d picked up a rumour from the darkest recesses of the Foam offices. Boris Mikhailov, his hero, about whom he’d written a dissertation, might be coming to Amsterdam with his beloved Vita to attend the opening of ‘Primrose – Russian Colour Photography’, of which his work was part. Earlier, in 2005 to be precise, his solo exhibition ‘Private Pleasures, Burdensome Boredom, Public Decay – a Retrospective’ had been shown at Foam.

Jan, always well informed, had the news before I did. He insisted I ask my colleague, who was working on ‘Primrose’. That wasn’t difficult. She was sitting right across from me. And while I had Jan on the phone, I started cheering along with him. The Boris Mikhailov really was coming. His book Case History had blown me away as a student when it was published in 1999. The photos of the bomzhes, the indigents and outcasts of Mikhailov’s native city of Kharkov in Ukraine, struck me as raw, committed, honest and real. When I spoke about the book with my fellow students, I soon noticed that there was room for dispute concerning those last two concepts. Mikhailov was accused of exploiting and exposing the sufferings of defenceless people of the lowest social class. He even paid them in return! It became clear to me then that taking photographs is not just about the image but about the relationship between the photographer and the model.

For both Mikhailov and Hoek, the relationship between photographer and model and the ethical questions that arise from it are an essential part of what they do. On this subject Jan said, and I quote, ‘I believe there is always a certain degree of ethics involved in photography. It’s almost impossible to take photographs of people without consciously, or unconsciously, crossing boundaries and with things happening that you don’t want or expect. I feel this is often covered up in photography, while I would like to show it …’

The photos are therefore quite often accompanied by personal and frank texts. Neither Hoek nor Mikhailov shrinks from making himself part of the work. Not just by standing behind the camera but by baring all in front of the camera, sometimes even literally. Both artists are flexible in spirit and extremely open about the nasty, funny, painful or touching things that happen when you photograph people. Things that are not just part of photography but part of life, and that do not need to be hidden. On the contrary. Both artists detest good taste, order and structure. They prefer to investigate the worlds of people who live in ways that depart from the norm, and they do so with a discerning and inquisitive gaze, with seriousness and humour. And with an attitude that is not submissive, patronizing, facetious or superior towards those they portray but egalitarian. For precisely that reason, however radical their work may be, I ultimately never doubt the integrity of its makers. Through their models, Hoek and Mikhailov spy on themselves and on all of us. Both their oeuvres, one more extensive than the other, can be regarded as magnificent portraits of the human lot, of which beauty, decline, madness, seeing and being seen, play, sex, struggle, power and loneliness are all part.

The creators of these two oeuvres did indeed finally meet a few years ago. It was at a dinner after the opening of their exhibitions in Foam. Ron Mandos was there too, as Jan Hoek’s gallerist. I think the idea of holding a joint exhibition firmed up at the moment when Jan pressed a button on his phone and he and Boris were together in a photo.

Strange, actually, that Paul Kooiker is not in that photo as well. It would have made perfect sense to invite him to that dinner. At the Rietveld he was an important teacher for Jan. When I met Paul in his studio in 2003, to invite him to co-curate an exhibition along with me, Case History was the first book he pulled out of his huge bookcase. Paul’s work, like that of Mikhailov and Hoek, often contains voyeuristic aspects, is radical, and is influenced by a love of amateur photography. He is of the generation right between Mikhailov and Hoek. With his enthusiasm, his love and knowledge of uncompromising images and therefore the work of Mikhailov and Jan, he is the ideal curator, even though he strongly dislikes that role. It must surely have been a challenge to put together an exhibition with three such wayward artists, but it’s a pleasure to walk around here. Boris Mikhailov, Jan Hoek, Paul Kooiker and Ron Mandos: my warmest congratulations on this far from ordinary exhibition.

All that remains is a last personal note to Jan:
Jan, I once affably declined a request in one of your emails, and I quote with permission:

‘Hi Kim,
Can I present the first of my little books to you at a Thai sex party? On stage?
I hope so!
Greetings,
Jan’

I refused.
Jan, I hope that with this respectable opening I have paid back a little bit of my ‘debt’ to you.
Greetings,
Kim