Jacob Holdt

What is fascinating about Jacob Holdt’s shocking, touching, and sometimes even sensuous photographs from forty years of traveling across the US is the fact that they are not the result of some Magnum-style photographer who happened to be at the right place at the right time. Rather, the photograph of a poor child in an African-American ghetto, opening a refrigerator with nothing but trash inside, or the portrayal of homely comfort in the house of a local Ku Klux Klan leader, capture integral parts of the Danish photographer’s life in America, which began when he arrived in the country in 1970. Equipped with nothing but a camera and what he calls his “philosophy of yes” (his conceptual strategy, as it were), Holdt initiated a kind of vagabond’s life, being merciful to whoever needed him the most and therefore often ending up with the poor, as well as outcasts of all sorts, including a family of mass murderers spanning three generations, whom he calls his friends.

Up until now, Holdt had only shown his images in the form of captivating slide-show lectures, presented at locations including prep schools and universities—not least to make sure that the motifs weren’t interpreted in terms of clichéd understandings of race and poverty. Strikingly, in his first exhibition at a major art institution, this decisive, longtime practice has been largely omitted. Clearly, Holdt is no Walker Evans, and the photographs are best when accompanied by their specific narratives. Had the curators embraced the obvious performative elements of the photo lectures, it might have strengthened the exhibition’s presentation. Still, even if Holdt only followed his old mantra of yes when he agreed to exhibit his photos in a more conventional manner, the personal involvement that gave him access to these lives and powerful motifs in the first place manages to seep out of the work on view.