Two boys looking at each other in front of a tombstone . . . an old fisherman waiting in a coracle grasping an oar . . . farmers threshing their grain . . . aborigine children smiling innocently . . . pilgrims on their way to a temple . . . an itinerant peddler showing off a squirrel . . . a father and his sons bathing in a stream . . . aborigines posing on a rope suspension bridge . . . Atayal mothers, one squatting and the other standing, carrying their infants on their backs . . .
With distant postures and faraway expressions, people in photographs from the 1950s seem to be watching and waiting: watching over family and home, over beliefs, over harvests and results, and waiting for an uncertain growth and an unknowable future. The photographs taken in those days by Lin Ch'uan-tzu, in particular, exude a feeling of waiting and expectation.
Among the boxes and boxes of film that Lin left behind from over thirty years as a photographer, the most precious are his black-and-white documentary photos depicting the life of the common people, photos which combine human emotion with artistic beauty.
In a certain respect, the attitude behind these photographs is also one of "waiting," of the photographer patiently and selflessly waiting for the right moment to record what he saw, an attitude worthy of study in the hectic decade of the 1980s.
Lin Ch'uan-tzu was born in Taichung in 1922. When he was 31, he took over the photography studio which his father had founded in 1901, the oldest in Taichung. At Lin's death in 1977, the studio passed on to his son, and it remains in his hands today.
Although Lin was initially enamored with "aesthetic" photography, his experience as a news photographer, an occupation he pursued for nearly 20 years, soon gave him the ability to observe things more naturally and objectively. His best pictures achieve a harmony between the picturesque and the realistic and a balance between the material and the human.
Lin often told his friends, "If I don't shoot it today, tomorrow will be too late." Outside of the responsibilities of job and family, Lin spent all his remaining time and energy traveling about, photographing the world around him.
His works nearly all share some common characteristics. First, their composition is clear and simple. In "Harvest," for example, the distinct figure outside the screen and the blurred one behind it form a sharp contrast, a contrast made more interesting by taking the picture into the light.
And in "Ancestral Tombstone" the two children looking at each other and holding cookies counterbalance each other on either side of the curved tablet, which stands out against the confusion of the grass behind it.
Most cameras in the 1950s took pictures from chest level or lower, giving photographs an upward-looking angle of vision, a feature which Lin turned to good advantage in many of his pictures. In "Harvest" and "Ancestral Tombstone," for example, the low angles of vision bring us closer to the ground, lending the pictures an earthy feel, closely connected with the soil.
Another characteristic of many of Lin's photographs is a warm feeling of concern and a life-affirming sense of humor. "Fisherman," "Peddler," and "A Troop of Incense Bearers," show us the hardship of the life of the common people and their fortitude in the face of it. And "Children's Faces," "Father and Sons Bathing," and "The Yami People of Orchid Island" (who are gathered round to watch a priest shave) bring to the viewer's heart a knowing smile.
Photographers in the 1950s were accustomed to take pictures in groups, and they sometimes wound up with almost identical photographs. Lin's "Aborigines Out Hunting," for example, is quite similar to a picture that appears in The Collected Photographs of Ch'en Keng-pin; except for the dog, the postures of the people and the positioning of the camera are nearly the same. Although both are good photographs, the duplication is regrettable and can serve as a warning to camera buffs who like to travel in groups or shoot the same subjects.
Relaxed and easy-going at other times, Lin could be driven and heedless of himself when working at photography. "If the work wasn't finished, he'd go without eating," is an assessment his colleagues agree in.
He once fell from the ceiling of a theater while trying to get a better angle, and another time he almost slipped off a bridge. Although he had difficulty in walking due to a bone disease he contracted during his youth, he climbed mountains and crossed rivers for photography. On June 15, 1977, while photographing a flood at Wuhsi, he fell on a rock in the rain, suffered a heart attack, and died, still clutching a camera in his hand. He was 56.
Expressed through the medium of his pictures, his warm and caring spirit lives on.
[Picture Caption]
Lin Ch'uan-tzu at age 31, 1953.
Atayal Women, 1955.
Fisherman, 1956.
Ancestral Tombstone, 1954.
A Troop of Incense Bearers, 1954.
Children's Faces, 1955.
Harvest, 1953.
Aborigines Out Hunting, 1954.
Peddler, 1958.
Father and Sons Bathing, 1957.
The Yami People of Orchid Island, 1955.
Ancestral Tombstone, 1954.
A Troop of Incense Bearers, 1954.
Aborigines Out Hunting, 1954.
Father and Sons Bathing, 1957.
The Yami People of Orchid Island, 1955.
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