Often forgotten, and unknown the fashion photographer of 1920s Berlin, Yva and her singular vision would go on to influence the likes of Guy Bourdin, Ellen Von Unwerth, and of course her apprentice Helmut Newton.
Her real name was Else Neulander, she was of Jewish origin. Born in 1900 and the youngest of nine children, she became fatherless from the age of 12, her mother left to support and fend for the family by becomin a milliner. Most likely this instilled an ambitious nature in the young Yva, and after some photographic training her work was shown in a touring exhibition entitled 'Foto: Modernity in Central Europe 1918-1945'.
In 1925 she bagan to work alongside the artist Heinz Hajek-Halke and would go on to incorporate his paintings in her photographs, as in the double exposure/ self-portrait above.
Yva had a talent for blurring the boundaries of photography. Sadly enough her archives were lost and only single images in public musuems/ collections remain.
Miroslav Tichy has a knack for conjuring images then spell nothing but memory. Finding fame at a later stage of his life, better late than never as they say. Tichy achieves these results through a rather extraordinary approach, he basically builds the camera himself out of odds and ends. The printed images often dog eared and subject to the elements from teas stains of a mug to other spots of imperfection thanks to their unkempt existence. Effects which cannot help but add to their nostalgic charm.
The subjects women, women, and, more women. Often without their noticing, a rather voyeuristic aim at catching them unawares sunbathing on a lazy summers day in some park. The blur that his DIY cameras usually create again adds such mood and evokes the sun streaked beauty of days gone by.
'To imagine was far more terrible then reality, because it took place in a void, it was untestable. There were no hands with which to strike or defend oneself in that inner chamber of ghostly tortures. But in living the realisation summoned energies, forces, courage, arms and legs, to fight with so that war almost became joy. To fight a real sorrow, a real loss, a real insult, a real disillusion, a real treachery was infinitely less difficult than to spend a night without sleep struggling with ghosts. The imagination is far better at inventing tortures than life because the imagination is a demon within us, and it knows where to strike us where it hurts. It knows the vulnerable spot, and life does not, and lovers do not because seldom do they have the imagination equal to the task.'