With cultish exceptions, the pursuit of a career in publishing and the respect for print seem to have become vintage values in America. The amount of evidence that modern media and publishing is in a terribly precarious state could smother a person: book sales have completely plummeted. Walmart is usurping bestseller sales with bargain, practically-throwaway prices. Ad pages in magazines have decreased by significant percentages. Newspapers are folding. There’s a startling lack of job postings on media career sites once rife with lowly, foot-in-the-door positions. And yet…
And yet there are those who assiduously, valiantly still cling to the notion that publishing is an industry worth the struggle to be part of, be it in book, magazine, or online form. For all the frustrations and insecurities, being part of a trade that at its core has been established in order to create a forum of expression, feed our understanding about contemporary (or timeless) issues and enhance our scope for fantasy is, well, nothing less than extraordinary.
If there’s ever someone who embodies that fighting the good fight is worth it, it’s French maestro Robert Delpire, whose resume boasts creative positions as wide-ranging as literary magazine editor, book publisher, artistic director of publicity, film producer, cultural programmer, and curator. [Pause to wipe brow].
A retrospective of his incredible publishing archive, Delpire & Cie, is currently on display at the Musée Européenne de la Photographie in Paris. While viewing the projects he has delivered to the public, the question percolates: in relation to this uniquely successful, decades-long publishing career, where does contemporary publishing stand? Can anyone be a publishing mogul in the arts anymore?
Initially, Delpire studied to be a doctor. While in medical school, he took up the editor position of the school’s newly-established literary magazine (yes, apparently, even French medical students were provided with an outlets for expression that’s how impressive the French literary tradition is). It was this experience, at the helm of the academic journal, which inspired Delpire to trade his sterilized lab coat for a rumpled tweed blazer. It’s a rather extreme career switch (i.e. the kind of thing that makes Jewish grandmothers get very upset), but one he was obviously suited for. When the first issue came out in 1950, entitled Neuf – meaning nine; also, new — it was, from the get-go, a serious art review. Under Delpire’s direction, subsequent issues of Neuf included a roster of contributors that reads like a who’s-who of modern art and intéllo stars: Robert Doisneau, Henri Cartier-Bresson, Brassai, Sartre and André Breton. Not. Too. Shabby.
His illustrious career only snowballed. Delpire’s killer selection instincts imbued icon status to many then-débuting artists. In 1958, he was the first to publish [previously unknown] Robert Frank’s indelible series The Americans. In 1967, he was the first European publisher to introduce Where the Wild Things Are (Max et les Maximonstres) to the French. Throughout the 1980s, Delpire organized and curated visually compelling photo supplements for French newspaper Le Nouvel Observateur. Perhaps his most integral contribution to modern art publishing as we know it: the institution of the photo-poches series, merging the accessibility of a paperback with the beauty of an art book. These editions eliminated the aggrandized elitism and inflated price tag of art books, opening the genre up to a more populaire audience. Today there are 150 photo-poches titles, translated into many languages, which are staple reading for any amateur of photography.
“Je n’ai jamais publié quelqu’un qui ne m’intéressait pas”, Delpire stated in response to how he has managed to sustain such a creatively successful career, and across various media at that. Upon first glance, it seems like such an obvious statement. But in a world that is filled with compromises and business plans and marketing tactics, the almost childishly stubborn I-do-what-I-like attitude is incredibly heartening. A fulfilling career in the media is as simple as realizing coup de coeur projects?! Well, of course: authentic enthusiasm should be at the core of every project. This points to a most unfortunate rift between American and European attitudes in publishing. A career like Robert Delpire’s really demonstrates the solidity of Europe’s literary tradition and cultural values, which have managed to stay the course where the American media market has buckled under commercial pressures. As seen laid out over three floors and sixty years, the vastness of the visually stimulating projects Delpire has instigated and coordinated is proof-positive that a devoid-of-commercialism attitude can, and has, thrived.
But, of course, one must wonder… how many unrecognized Robert Delpire types are out there? Innovative and perceptive people who have failed to launch their tastes into sustainable careers? The philosophy of simply promoting what you love, admire and react to implicitly… it’s an attitude that appears to be going extinct in America. Those with financial capital only want to see more returns, and that rampantly commercial expectation taints art-as-expression. Conversely, the lack of finances requisite for upholding and championing beloved projects means that, in a public sphere, they only reach a small niche audience. Indeed let us not forget that publishing is a business, as much as it is a means of expression. And of course, business and the arts have perpetually been at odds. However, as huge staff cuts are made across the board and printed material goes the way of the microchip, these “business vs. creative” issues take on extra sharpness.
This Delpire exhibit really brings the philosophical quandary about the future of publishing to the forefront. The viewer definitely feels a surge of empowerment when seeing the artistic projects orchestrated by Delpire in the fields of photography, publishing, illustration, and the public arts. But that relish gets cloaked in a kind of mournful feeling, because how feasible is it for anyone to have a Delpire-esque career in the advent of 2010? It’s hard not to feel a certain sense of defeatism that his paradigm seems gone. Yet Delpire’s emphasizes that he is and has always been a collaborator: that an exhibit with his name on it is necessarily an exhibit that further includes everyone that he’s worked with. His humility is moving, but it also points to the strength needed for, and provided by, a tirelessly enthusiastic artistic and editorial community.
