Page 140 – LIFE

Cartier-Bresson: ‘Red China’ in Color, 1958

August 17, 2021March 22, 2012 by

The French photographer Henri Cartier-Bresson (1908 – 2004) was influential in ways and on a scale that, in all likelihood, will never be repeated or matched by any other practitioner of the craft. So much of what the world now knows and recognizes as photojournalism, after all, was originally shaped by Cartier-Bresson’s work in the 1930s, and especially by the methodology he developed and pursued with his peers Robert Capa and David Seymour, or “Chim”: incessant travel, always with camera in hand; the search not for mere adventure, but for meaning in both conflict and in utterly quotidian calm; and finally, the hunt for specific, never-to-be repeated scenes, instances, gestures that would, in less than a heartbeat, tell a tale that no moving image or written word could possibly surpass.

Like William Blake’s admonition to “see a world in a grain of sand,” Cartier-Bresson’s defining aim has been summed up in the notion of (in the English translation) “the decisive moment” that is, the fraction of a second when a living tableau presents itself to a photographer, and he or she must rely on both instinct and experience to know when to make the picture, to get the shot.

That Cartier-Bresson routinely cut up literally cut up, into pieces, with scissors his contact sheets and discarded those pictures that did not come close to capturing a decisive moment hardly lessens or cheapens the scope of the man’s singular and still, today, almost overwhelming achievement. But the practice of ruthlessly culling weak images from the strong does, perhaps, provide insights into the admirably unsentimental nature of an artist like HCB and perhaps nowhere was this lack of undue sentiment more striking than in Cartier-Bresson’s color photography.

There’s a reason, it turns out, why coming across his color photos can be so jarring; not only did Cartier-Bresson infrequently shoot in color, but he destroyed virtually all of his color negatives, leaving the almost exclusively black-and-white legacy familiar to most photography fans. Finding out that Cartier-Bresson shot professionally in color — and sometimes worked on major, long-term assignments in that format — is the sort of unexpected revelation than provides the student of photography with not only a surprise, but a sudden sense of enlargement.

One of Cartier-Bresson’s most significant color projects was a 1958 assignment for LIFE: a four-month, 7,000 mile tour through communist China during that country’s convulsive “great leap forward,” when the huge, ancient nation was being alternately pushed and pulled, dragged and harried by its leaders to leave its past behind and to embrace industrialization, collectivism and the precepts of Chairman Mao. (“The staggering Chinese upheaval … goes on,” LIFE wrote of the ‘great leap,’ “spurred by the biting fury that Mao himself expressed when he declared, Communism is not love, Communism is a hammer we use to destroy the enemy.”)

“With the perceptiveness for which he is famous,” LIFE declared of the photographer’s work in China, “Cartier-Bresson has shown how the Chinese individually react and live amid the oppressive regimentation imposed on them.”

Whether or not viewers today see what LIFE told its readers they would encounter in that issue in early 1959, what remains clear in the pictures presented here, in both color and in black and white, is that decades into his long, varied career Cartier-Bresson was still seeking and still finding those never-to-be-repeated decisive moments.

LIFE Magazine, January 5, 1959

Henri Cartier-Bresson LIFE Magazine

Water: Essential, Beautiful, Mesmerizing, Fun

August 11, 2021March 21, 2012 by

Agua. Wai. L’eau. Wasser. Mul. Water.

No matter how you spell it or how you pronounce it, H2O is a wonder: a beautifully simple, simply beautiful element that means nothing less than life.

We drink it. We swim in it. We inhale it with the air we breathe, and exhale it when we sleep, when we talk, when we laugh, when we stand outside on a cold night watching the stars, our breath made visible. We sail on it, ski on it and whitewater raft on it. We are, to a large extent, made of it. Our planet is a shining blue marble in the darkness of space because of it.

Without it, you’re in trouble.

Here, LIFE.com offers a gallery celebrating the most wondrous of all the classic elements a small, humble gesture of gratitude toward dihydrogen monoxide, without which we, and everything we know and love, would simply dry up and blow away.

Swimmer Kathy Flicker spits water in a swimming pool in 1962.

George Silk The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Missionary priest Vincent Ferrer (left) and assistant Mahadev (right) splash in water from a new well on a model farm in India in 1968.

Co Rentmeester The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Thirsty young football players drink water from a garden hose in Denver, Colorado, in 1939.

Alfred Eisenstaedt The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Linda Joy Young bathes in a sink, Pasadena, Calif., in 1951.

Ed Clark The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

A girl in a village on Saipan (Marianas Islands) carries a bottle of water in her arms and a baby on her back in 1944.

W. Eugene Smith The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

A little girl receiving tests gazes into pool containing baby ducks —an early use of animals as part of medical therapy, 1956.

Francis Miller The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

A sharecropper’s son gets water from a pump on a farm in the Mississippi delta in 1937.

Alfred Eisenstaedt The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

A steelworker in Aliquippa, Penn., washes up at an outdoor pump in 1936.

Alfred Eisenstaedt The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

A Bald Eagle’s bath in California, 1949.

J. R. Eyerman The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

A soldier drives a Jeep out of the water in 1946.

Thomas D. McAvoy The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Rehearsal for an underwater wedding, San Marcos, Texas, 1954.

John Dominis The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Water-proofing, 1948.

Bernard Hoffman The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Writing underwater with a pen, 1948.

Ralph Morse The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Women demonstrate the Porpoise Diving Fin, a streamlined 2-inch thick mahogany plank at the end of a tow rope, 1948.

George Silk The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Kathy Flicker dives at Princeton University’s Dillon Gym pool in 1962.

George Silk The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

A polar bear seen underwater at a London zoo in 1967.

Terence Spencer The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Underwater ballet, 1945.

Walter Sanders The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

1952 U.S. Olympic Skiers: Stunning Images from Squaw Valley

August 17, 2021March 21, 2012 by

In February 1952, when (as LIFE magazine phrased it) “a gay and gaudy invasion” of athletes descended on Norway’s capital, Oslo, to take part in the sixth Olympic Winter Games, “a select band of winter warriors paused there only long enough to catch their breath and another train.”

Leaving behind the main force of 1,200 athletes, this small group pushed on north to a sterner battleground. These were the true daredevils of winter sport the downhill ski racers. Their destination, 62 miles from Oslo, was Mount Norefjell, a snow-capped peak whose terrain is considered rugged enough for the most hazardous of all Olympic events. No sport on earth matches in danger the downhill race: the course at Norefjell drops a breathtaking 2,400 feet in a mile and half.

Among the men en route there this week, with less chance of winning a race than of losing a limb, was the underdog eight-man American team. All in their 20s and pink-faced from weeks of outdoor training, they included three college boys from New England, a lumberjack from the Pacific northwest, a ski-tow mechanic, a yeoman 2/c on leave from the U.S. Navy, an Air Force private and one fellow who had no other occupation than skiing for the fun of it. With them in the role of keeper was one middle-aged Frenchman named Emile Allais, their trainer and technical adviser.

Norefjell looks no more formidable than a dozen other mountains they have conquered: it is no tougher than the “rock garden” at Sun Valley or skiing down the side of the Empire State Building.

LIFE was right, in the end, in its estimation of the team’s chances in Norway or rather, LIFE was right about the men’s chances. No one on the American men’s ski team medaled in 1952. But a young native Vermonter on the women’s squad, 19-year-old Andrea Mead Lawrence (a future National Ski Hall of Fame inductee), made up for the dearth of laurels on the male side, winning gold in both the Slalom and Giant Slalom.

Here, LIFE.com presents photos of the men’s squad by George Silk as they trained for the ’52 Oslo games in Squaw Valley, California. These pictures that capture the rigor and the beauty of, as LIFE put it, “the most hazardous of all Olympic events.”

American skier Jack Reddish training for the 1952 Oslo Winter Olympics, Squaw Valley, California, 1950.

George Silk Time & Life Pictures/Shutterstock

A skier trains for the Olympics, Squaw Valley, California, 1950.

George Silk Time & Life Pictures/Shutterstock

American skiers in training, Squaw Valley, California, 1950.

George Silk Time & Life Pictures/Shutterstock

Original caption: ” “Over the edge and seemingly off into space goes U.S. Olympic team member Dick Buek at Squaw Valley. On straight drops skiers have gone 73 mph.” Buek, an adrenaline junkie nicknamed “the Madman of Donner Summit,” died at the age of 27 in a plane crash.”

George Silk Time & Life Pictures/Shutterstock

Skiers train for the 1952 Winter Olympics, Squaw Valley, California, 1950.

George Silk Time & Life Pictures/Shutterstock

“Avalanche of men and snow plunges down steep side of mountain at Squaw Valley in California as American team gets ready for the Olympics. This dramatic picture was taken in early morning before the sun had touched the snow.”

George Silk Time & Life Pictures/Shutterstock

U.S. Olympic skier training in Squaw Valley, California, 1950.

George Silk Time & Life Pictures/Shutterstock

U.S. Olympic Skier training in Squaw Valley, California, 1950.

George Silk Time & Life Pictures/Shutterstock

A skier trains for the Olympics, Squaw Valley, California, 1950.

George Silk Time & Life Pictures/Shutterstock

Mies van der Rohe and the Poetry of Purpose

January 20, 2020March 20, 2012 by

Poets, Shelley famously wrote, “are the unacknowledged legislators of the world.” Of course, as a poet himself, the great Romantic might have been slightly biased in his own, and in his fellow bards’, favor.

Self-serving or not, his point is worth examining, and opening out a little further: do artists of all stripes shape our future more than the lawmaker? If so, one could further argue that a single, specific artistic pursuit shapes the future more than any other: namely, architecture.

From the Parthenon to the Taj Mahal to Fallingwater to the Empire State Building, consciously designed structures—temples, mausoleums, private dwellings and public edifices—are often the most eloquent messengers from one generation, and from one culture, to another. Architecture, when done right, embodies a civilization’s values and aspirations: it shows what mattered to a given group of people at a given time in history, and translates an artist’s vision into tangible, lasting form.

One such artist, whose work so defined his time that it’s impossible to imagine certain decades and cityscapes without his influence, was the German master Ludwig Mies van der Rohe (1886 – 1969). Like his contemporaries Walter Gropius and Le Corbusier, Mies (pronounced “mees,” like “peace”) championed simplicity in the cause of a truly Modern architecture, eschewing decorative elements in favor of clarity and emphasizing functionality as absolutely central to any structure’s aesthetic appeal.

Mies loved the George Washington Bridge, for example, not only because he so admired the at-once muscular and elegant proportions of the vast steel span above the Hudson River, but because one can see virtually every critical element of the bridge’s construction simply by glancing at it. The GWB does not hide or attempt to divert one’s attention from its underlying structure; instead, for Mies and for those who share his sensibility, the genuinely dramatic appeal of the bridge is its structure: the spare, gorgeous sinews that delineate its function.

Here, LIFE.com republishes a series of photographs by photographer Frank Scherschel from a feature that ran in the March 1, 1957 issue of LIFE, at the same time that the architect’s signature achievement—the 38-story Seagram Building on Park Avenue in New York—was nearing completion.

Titled “Emergence of a Master Architect,” the LIFE article made clear from the outset that until the mid-1950s, “Mies was renowned chiefly among fellow architects and his revolutionary ideas were known chiefly through models, a few buildings in Europe and the work of disciples.

“But today at 70, after living inconspicuously in the U.S. for 20 years, Mies is bursting into full, spectacular view … [A sudden surge of high-profile commissions] is accepted by Mies as vindication of his lifelong principle that architecture must be true to its time. His own severely geometric, unembellished buildings have been designed to express in purest forms a technological concept of our technological age. They also … express the simplicity and sturdy nobility of Mies himself.”

“Romanticists don’t like my buildings,” Mies told LIFE, speaking with the sort of simple, unadorned directness that one would expect from the visionary behind the Seagram Building, the Farnsworth House and other Modernist architectural touchstones. “They say [my designs] are cold and rigid. But we do not build for fun. We build for a purpose.”

Liz Ronk edited this gallery for LIFE.com. Follow her on Twitter at @LizabethRonk.

Architect Ludwig Mies van der Rohe peered between two large models of ultra-modern apartment buildings he designed for Chicago’s Lake Shore Drive, 1956.

Frank Scherschel The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Mies van der Rohe-designed apartment houses, 860-880 Lake Shore Drive, Chicago, 1956.

Frank Scherschel The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

860 Lake Shore Drive, Chicago.

Frank Scherschel The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Bronze I-beams for the Seagram’s Building tower in midtown New York, 1956.

Frank Scherschel The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Clouds reflected on the glass facade of an apartment building in Chicago designed by Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, 1956.

Frank Scherschel The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Realtor Herbert Greenwald and architect Mies van der Rohe considered a model of a Mies building, 1956.

Frank Scherschel The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Testing a fountain in a laboratory at Massachusetts Institute of Technology were Mies and his Seagram associate, architect Philip Johnson (second from left), who planned fountain. They decided to use two of them to decorate Seagram Plaza.

Frank Scherschel The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Planning new project to remake Battery Park, Mies discussed a model with Herbert Greenwald, a real estate developer. Greenwald gave Mies his first Chicago apartments commission and later devoted himself to promoting Mies projects.

Frank Scherschel The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Shining spaciousness was achieved by Mies in Illinois Tech’s Crow Hall, a 220-foot-long, glass-enclosed building which is in fact one gigantic room. Its ceiling and walls are suspended from four exterior girders (two can be seen above), eliminating the need for interior supporting columns.

Frank Scherschel The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Spiritual simplicity was Mies’ aim in designing the Illinois Tech Chapel. Maintaining the basic campus pattern, he insisted on a flat-roofed rectangle but provided brick walls to give the chapel a sense of privacy and solitude. Steel mullions of the facade echoed the shape of the cross above the altar.

Frank Scherschel The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Room reflections were mirrored on the glass wall of a Lake Shore Drive Apartment by architect Mies van der Rohe.

Frank Scherschel The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

The Seagram Building in New York City, when it was under construction.

Frank Scherschel The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Mies van der Rohe, architect, 1956.

Frank Scherschel The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Liza Minnelli at 19: Rare Photos of a Legend on the Cusp of Stardom

December 19, 2019March 9, 2012 by

In March 1965, when LIFE photographer Bill Eppridge spent time on assignment with Judy Garland’s enormously talented daughter, Liza Minnelli, Liza was just turning 19 and launching what would prove to be a monumental career of her own. She was about to debut on Broadway in Flora the Red Menace, in a role that would make her, at the time, the youngest woman to win a Tony Award for lead actress. Also on the show’s creative team was composer John Kander and lyricist Fred Ebb. They would team up on such Broadway classics as Cabaret—later made into a movie starring Minnelli in her Oscar-winning role as Sally Bowles—and Chicago.

Liza allowed Eppridge into her spirited Flora rehearsals, and even invited him to her 19th birthday party in New York City, but in the end LIFE published just one of Eppridge’s photos. Here LIFE.com presents a series of pictures most of which never ran in LIFE of a legend in the making.

Liza, of course, was no stranger to show business: her mom was Judy Garland, her dad was the director Vincente Minnelli. She had performed with her mother at the London Palladium and had done a little work Off-Broadway but Flora the Red Menace would be her highest profile role to date, the gig that would nudge her out of the shadow of her famous parents and into another spotlight entirely.

Of Minnelli’s opening-night performance in Flora, LIFE wrote: “She acted and danced with an awkward, captivating charm, threw out ‘What-am-I-doing-here?’ looks, sang in a voice that boomed and belted, quivered sweetly, and occasionally got out of control which only added to her likability. . . . She certainly did look like her mother several rainbows ago. When she sang, there were echoes of Judy, too the old catches and wavers and throbs that made a song sound as if it were going through a nervous breakdown. But soon Judy’s image faded and Liza’s came into focus.”

In the decades since Eppridge made these intimate shots of the budding star, Liza has performed at the world’s most famous concert halls, racked up countless awards for her singing and acting and delighted new generations of fans with scene-stealing appearances in contemporary pop-culture touchstones like Arrested Development. But her early years truly were something special. As Liza told LIFE in 1965: “Eighteen is great, but 19 is best of all. That’s when you’re opening in your first Broadway show.”

Surrounded by friends, and in the embrace of fiancé Peter Allen—she’d marry the Australian entertainer two years later—19-year-old Liza Minnelli cut her birthday cake in 1965.

Bill Eppridge The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Liza Minnelli studied sheet music in rehearsals for Flora the Red Menace in 1965, a new musical in which she’d play a bohemian fashion designer during the Great Depression.

Bill Eppridge The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Liza Minnelli ran lines with her Flora the Red Menace costar Bob Dishy. In the show, Liza’s Flora falls for his character, a fellow designer who pulls her toward Communism.

Bill Eppridge The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Liza Minnelli and Bob Dishy were put through their paces by Flora the Red Menace choreographer Lee Theodore.

Bill Eppridge The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Liza Minnelli, 1965.

Bill Eppridge The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Flora the Red Menace rehearsals, 1965.

Bill Eppridge The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Liza Minnelli huddled with Flora the Red Menace choreographer Lee Theodore (right) and an unidentified man (possibly Fred Ebb).

Bill Eppridge The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Liza Minnelli burned up the floor at her 19th birthday party at Il Mio, a disco inside Delmonico’s Hotel in New York, March 1965.

Bill Eppridge The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Liza Minnelli, 1965.

Bill Eppridge The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Liza Minnelli busted out the hottest dance of the day, “the Frug,” at her birthday party in 1965.

Bill Eppridge The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Shoes kicked off, head thrown back, 19-year-old Liza Minnelli belted out a song for birthday party guests in 1965. From LIFE’s report: “When a friend scolded her for singing for free she said, ‘I don’t care, I sing for me.'”

Bill Eppridge The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Liza Minnelli reacted as an unidentified well-wisher at her 19th birthday party presented her with a swan-shaped balloon. Seated beside her was Peter Allen.

Bill Eppridge The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Liza Minnelli, 1965.

Bill Eppridge The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Birthday girl Liza Minnelli got down on the floor with her guests, March 1965.

Bill Eppridge The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

The First Girl Scout: Portraits of Daisy Gordon Lawrence

January 20, 2020March 9, 2012 by

How often is a preteen celebrated as a genuine pioneer? In 1912, in Savannah, Ga., an 11-year-old girl named Daisy Gordon earned that lofty, evocative appellation when she became the first-ever Girl Scout in the United States.

Daisy’s aunt, Juliette Gordon Low—also known as “Daisy” to family and friends—was the founder of the Girl Scouts of America. Juliette was inspired to start the organization during a trip to the United Kingdom in early 1912. When she returned to Savannah in March of that year, she resolved to create a new type of sorority for girls modeled on the Boy Scout movement she’d witnessed and so admired in England. On March 12, 1912, at a “Girl Scout” party at Juliette’s Savannah home, her niece Daisy was the first to sign the new organization’s membership register. The rest, as they say, is history.

Here, more than a century after the founding of the Girl Scouts of America, LIFE.com pays tribute to the GSA with a gallery of pictures featuring none other than “the first Girl Scout,” Daisy Gordon herself.

In its November 22, 1948 issue, LIFE ran a feature titled, like this gallery, “The First Girl Scout.” The subtitle of the article, meanwhile, was even more enticing—”She shows off a new uniform and some old tricks”—and indicated what was to come: namely, pictures of Daisy Gordon Lawrence (47 years old and married when the article appeared) wearing new Girl Scout duds while also showing contemporary Girl Scouts how to tie knots, start a fire with a “firebow” and work semaphore flags.

“Girl Scouts,” LIFE wrote, “have proved an important force in the nation’s youth. Today they can get proficiency badges in anything from journalism to international affairs. When Daisy was a Scout, the program was more violent. Her guidebook taught how to stop runaway horses (‘run as fast as the horse and throw your full weight on the reins’), how to shoot guns, and fly airplanes (‘it is best not to go out in a hurricane.’) ‘Rubber,’ it warned, ’causes paralysis.’ To make First Class Scout a girl had to ‘show a list of 12 satisfactory good turns’ or ‘swim 50 yards in her clothes.’ Daisy stayed Second Class.'”

Daisy remained active in the GSA for years; in 1958 she co-authored a book on her aunt, titled Lady of Savannah: The Life of Juliette Low. Daisy Gordon Lawrence died in Seattle in 1982.

Liz Ronk edited this gallery for LIFE.com. Follow her on Twitter at @LizabethRonk.

Daisy Gordon Lawrence with a young scout in 1948.

Francis Miller The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

The first uniform officially approved was severe, military and khaki-colored. The new uniform for leaders (right), designed by Mainbocher, was green but still severe.

Francis Miller The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Daisy Gordon Lawrence addressed a crowd in Savannah, Georgia, during a celebration honoring her aunt, Juliette Low, founder of the Girl Scouts of America.

Francis Miller The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Signaling, Mrs. Lawrence waved semaphore flags. She could remember most letters up to M, and also W (above). She had three children; all were boy scouts.

Francis Miller The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Daisy Gordon Lawrence with young scouts in 1948.

Francis Miller The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Lighting a fire with a firebow, Lawrence demonstrated the friction method used in her day. The tinder failed to light. In 1948 the Girl Scouts were using matches.

Francis Miller The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Tying a knot, she made a clove hitch on a tree. In 1948 scouts did less knotting and woodcraft, concentrating more on homemaking and hospital work.

Francis Miller The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Daisy Gordon Lawrence with young scouts in 1948.

Francis Miller The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Daisy Gordon Lawrence schooled young Scouts on first aid in 1948.

Francis Miller The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

The Girl Scout Office and Juilette Low Museum in Savannah, Georgia.

Francis Miller The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Daisy Gordon Lawrence in 1948.

Francis Miller The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Daisy Gordon Lawrence walked with young scouts near the Girl Scout office and Juilette Low Museum in Savannah, Georgia.

Francis Miller The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Daisy Gordon Lawrence with a young scout in 1948.

Francis Miller The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

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