Where are our Walker Evans?

Much has been written over the last few months about the lack of writers documenting the human impact of the financial crisis. The names most often brought out in these debates are Steinbeck and Orwell, two towering figures in the literary-documentary tradition against which no writers today justifiably compare.

But it occurred to me while walking around the Jeff Wall retrospective at the BOZAR in Brussels that, not only is it legitimate to question the dearth of literary chroniclers, we might also pause to consider the absence of photographers capturing the essence of the new great depression. Where are our Walker Evans? Where are our Cartier-Bressons?

The argument could be made, as it has about writers, that in the midst of the worst financial crisis in a generation, people don’t want to read, or see, their suffering reflected in their entertainment. The purpose, they argue, of literature and film and any other of the arts, is to take the consumer into the realms of fantasy not force them to wallow, to live, in their reality. This is a one-dimensional analysis. Surely, the job of an artist is to capture reality as well as help create it? And if, as is often said, the media set the agenda, then surely our writers and photographers are in a unique position to document the social and economic decline at the human level and give voice, shape and form to the suffering.

While many striking images have come out of Detroit, and there have been inevitable accusations of 'poverty porn', the new voyeurism, it may only be years from now that we come to rue the consequences of the suffering we chose to ignore.