Contemporary German Photography edited by Markus Rasp, preface by Ulf Erdmann Ziegler was published by Taschen, 1998. Other articles by Colin Darke				Contemporary German Photography This latest in the Taschen oeuvre follows their established format; large, fat, dominated by images, with little text, and very colourful. Indeed, only one of the twenty-four collections contains black-and-white images and we can conclude from this either that ninety-five percent of German photography is made in colour or that selection for this book was made according to the demands of the eye-catching and marketable coffee-table format. In his preface, Ulf Erdmann Ziegler makes some analysis of the historical position of colour in German photography, but it is so confusing that one isn't quite sure whether he wants to reach a conclusion. He zigzags his way from saying that to make a distinction between black and white and colour sounds ridiculous to asserting it as crucial, then insisting that one is no better than the other and then that one is of the past and the other of the present. In journalism photography is always in black and white, except when it's colour and then it's 'twee'. But since 1980 German photography has used colour as part of its exploration of the "industrial fossilization" of "posthistory". But I suspect that the real reason this book contains only colour photographs is because, as Ziegler puts it, "it has always been the consumer goods industry which has wanted colour". The same confusion informs the political content of the essay. Ziegler makes the valid point that the felling of the Berlin Wall created a new freedom of observation, unhindered by the political screen. But this is then cloaked in Warholian mediaphilia/phobia which implies that the reunification of Germany was a result of Michael Jackson's 'supercode', rather than Reagan's 'superweapon'. The photography observes the realities of mostly western and, of course, mostly German society. Perhaps to be expected from a newly reformed state structure unsure of itself and its future, much, especially the portraiture, has been made from within youth subculture. Katharina Bosse's collection moves from a man displaying his 'Protohuman' back tattoo to self-conscious fifties retro to sado-masochism to a fashion victim whose inside-out leather coat reveals a fur lining only slightly hairier than his back. Frederike Helling's intimate exploration of bedsitland is worth a mention, but the best of the youth portraits are from Armin Smailovic. The struggle between arrogance and insecurity that defines our early adult years is illustrated with clarity. Heads directly face us with defiance or turn away with nonchalance, but most are partly obscured - with a hand, behind a mudpack or though lack of focus. Portraiture reaches its maturity in the work of Andre Zelck. He has been working with a family, with five children, in an impoverished area of the Ruhr district for four and a half years, building what he calls "a very personal family album". The photographs are certainly reminiscent of the family snapshot, including an apparent disregard for composition, with parts of the subjects' bodies out of frame - taken in two works to the extreme. They are, however, beautifully constructed, with a formal balance of which Degas would have been proud. This is not, though, simply an aestheticisation of poverty. There is a rawness left remaining, personified by Papa, with his tea and fag, seated with his eyes closed and his thumb pushed deep into his haggard face. A political comment made with a rare subtlety. Eva Leitolf's politics are more clearly visible, but are also presented with a subtlety which heightens the impact of her work. Describing her work as "searching for evidence", Leitolf uses her artist's statement space to list neo-nazi attacks on asylum seekers' hostels between 1992 and 1994. The photographs document the aftermath of the attacks and the surrounding neighbourhoods. Of the former, only two show damage. In one, it is the backdrop to a television news report. The other, 'Living room after the arson attack in Bielefeld-Senne in 1994', shows a room not touched by the fire. The evidence consists of soot stains formed by smoke entering the gap at the top of the door which dominates the image. Taped to the door is a Turkish calendar, signifying the room's occupants but, as it is two years old, acts as an inadequate historic reference. Leitolf's images of the neighbourhoods show an idyllic, middle-class lifestyle and when she enters the houses she reveals a sinister reality behind the gentle facades. In one, this is thrust in our faces - on a wall facing a writing desk are pinned pictures of Hitler, Mussolini, Reifenstahl and a horrible Sunday painting in an ornate gold frame. In another we are shown a glass-fronted cabinet containing all you'd expect - family photos, cups and glasses, a decanter, a doll and a plate. The plate, though, has been turned to show its back, revealing a Nazi eagle and swastika motif. An insidious presence in an apparently benign context. The stars of the book, for me, were Ulrike Myrzik and Manfred Jarisch, whose documentation of their 1994 and 1996 travels to China is visually stunning and sociologically pertinent. These images show a culture rife with contradiction and confusion, and within which its people survive and relate with a dignity that no one could fail to be moved by. And interesting that this is achieved best by moving outside of one's own cultural surroundings, as also seen in the work of Ulrike Fromel, working with a Western Ugandan Pygmy tribe. The nature of this publication, then, is determined by Germany's confusion about its cultural and political identity, still in flux and still unsure of itself. Ulf Erdmann Ziegler is wrong to say that these works result from a stream of consciousness. The best of them come from a considered objectivity, looking inwards and outwards from a unique historical perspective. Colin Darke
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