Los Angeles Review of Books
One thinks of India as a land of vibrant and varied color, of tile and textiles in everyday life that ravish with the most exotic hues. But Soham Gupta decided early on, when he dropped out of college at a difficult emotional turning point, that he would shoot exclusively in stark black-and-white. His subject became the unfortunate denizens of Calcutta’s meaner streets — prostitutes, junkies, lepers, the insane — whom he cajoled and befriended enough to gain their acceptance, and even their collaboration. Gupta’s nocturnal series, Angst, enshrouded them in an impenetrable, dolorous black from which they seemed to emerge as if from the photographer’s own imagination. The play of harsh light on their bodies and faces creates a theatrical atmosphere that almost redeems their deprivations and the pitiless blight of Calcutta. They are disturbing portraits, some difficult to look at without cringing (particularly that of a man so disfigured by a genetic condition called neurofibromatosis that his face sags pendulously down to his chest as if melting). But Gupta’s unflinching capture of the city’s underbelly is an artistic coup that manages to appear brave and sympathetic, not exploitive. He insists that these ghostly figures are beautiful to him, and it’s not hard to believe it’s true because of his own past alienation as a frail child. In some ineffable way, he identifies with them.
The title of Gupta’s self-published book, Diary/Fiction, reveals his aim — to entwine the hellish scenes he encounters on his nightly rambles with his own inventions. Like characters in a Beckett play, the people that lurch and swoon in front of his camera seem to peer out from an absurd world in utter resignation, neither defeated nor saved. Though the series is ultimately a critique of the vast disparity between the wealthy class and those barely surviving, living side by side in an extremely congested urban grid, it is also a vivid reckoning of just how many shades of humanity exist in the lower depths. One might guess that Gupta had been inspired by, say, Diane Arbus in his choice of marginalized human oddities. In fact, he was incited far more by a book — Last Exit to Brooklyn, by Hubert Selby Jr. “I think my work has the same harshness and cruelty that characterizes his writing.”
A passage from Gupta’s book, mounted at the entrance to the exhibition of Angst seen at the Delhi Photo Festival, attests to his own acrid literary taproot:
But our Calcutta, this crumbling city, it echoes with the cries of pain and the howls of agony, everywhere during heartbreaking winters, when the other half is having the most beautiful time of their lives. You just got to lend your ears to those silent cries, whether in the depths of the neighborhood garbage vat, by the trapped soul of the stinking dead cat and the unconscious mad man, flies buzzing around them, or in that country liquor bar buzzing with the grumbles of impoverished melancholy drunkards […]. The city, like that forgotten pot of tea, feels so bitter the tea-leaves resting in the teapot’s womb — like your love for Calcutta — responsible for all the bitterness.
La Nouvelle République
C'est un garçon incroyable. Frontal. 28 ans, une intelligence rare qui affleure dès les premiers mots : « Je veux produire beaucoup, beaucoup, beaucoup parce que je veux avoir plus tard le regard le plus large possible sur les années de ma jeunesse ».
La détermination rivée à la flamme de son regard, Soham Gupta écrase la vérité à grands coups de flash. Visible à l'espace Michelet, sa série sur les pauvres de Calcutta, rencontrés au plus près dans un parc de sa ville natale, résume on ne peut mieux son travail. Qu'elle soit lépreuse et difforme, d'une tristesse abyssale ou aux confins de la folie, la vérité inonde ses portraits. Ce qui change fondamentalement des images déjà vues sur le sujet, c'est son aptitude à exprimer le réel sans verser dans le pathos du misérabilisme. L'image est là, telle quelle, il la livre à la liberté de chacun avec une sagesse impressionnante pour un petit bonhomme d'à peine 30 ans. « C'est mon langage. Sans doute une façon radicale d'exprimer ma propre colère ou ma frustration. Un peu comme ces femmes russes qui montrent leurs seins pour se faire entendre ».
" Une célébration du corps "
La nudité, c'est d'ailleurs le thème qu'il a choisi à Niort. Une première. A mille lieues des codes pudiques de sa culture, ce qui a été un choc pour lui. Des Niortais se prêtent au jeu. La vérité est là, nue, de pied en cape face à l'objectif. « Je ne cherche pas à prendre de jolies photos, des choses typiques. C'est une célébration du corps tel qu'il est, dans le plus grand respect de ses imperfections », lâche-t-il. Là non plus, aucune ambiguïté. Pas une once d'érotisme ni de chemins tordus.
Il avait découvert la photo en 2005 avec le boîtier d'anniversaire de son père. Il s'y est mis sérieusement depuis 2009. « Une façon d'évacuer les choses négatives et d'être plus heureux avec moi-même », confie le diplômé en journalisme.
La Nouvelle République
He's an incredible boy. Frontal. 28, a rare intelligence that emerges from the first words: "I want to produce a lot, a lot, a lot because I want to have the widest possible view later on the years of my youth".
The determination riveted to the flame of his gaze, Soham Gupta delivers the truth with great strokes of flash. Visible in the Michelet space, his series on the poor of Calcutta, met very closely in his hometown, sums up his work better. Whether s/he is leprous and deformed, of an abyssal sadness or at the confines of madness, truth floods the portraits. What fundamentally changes images already seen on the subject is his ability to express reality without pouring into the pathos of miserabilism. The image is there, as it is, it delivers it to the freedom of everyone with an impressive wisdom for a young man of just 30 years. "That's my language. No doubt a radical way of expressing my own anger or frustration. A bit like those Russian women who show their breasts to be heard.
"A celebration of the body"
Nudity, moreover, is the theme he chose at Niort. A first. A thousand leagues from the modest codes of his culture. Niortais play the game. The truth is there, naked, from head to toe. "I do not try to take pretty pictures. It is a celebration of the body as it is, with the utmost respect for its imperfections, "he says. There, too, no ambiguity. Not an ounce of eroticism or twisted paths.
He discovered photography in 2005 with his father's birthday gift, a camera. He has been serious about it since 2009. "A way to evacuate negative things and be happier with myself," says Soham, who holds a diploma in photojournalism.