In 1937, the Parisian communist newspaper Ce soir sent a 28-year-old would-be filmmaker on an unpromising first assignment. Henri Cartier-Bresson was to take photographs of the British coronation, an event of limited appeal either to Ce soir’s readers or to Cartier-Bresson himself. But on the streets of London, he discovered what would become his signature approach.
Two Brylcreemed lads in their best suits, hoisting their girlfriends on to their shoulders for a better view
He would turn away from the King, the procession, the organised magnificence, and focus solely on the crowds, looking for some fleeting moment in which the meaning of...
Disagree with half of it, enjoy reading all of it
Free for a month
Our magazine articles are for subscribers only. Try a month of Britain’s best writing, absolutely free.
Already a subscriber? Log in
Comments
Join the debate, free for a month
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first month free.
UNLOCK ACCESS Try a month freeAlready a subscriber? Log in