Geographic Photographer on Latin America's "Divided Soul"

Jonathan Haeber
National Geographic News

August 13, 2003

View a photo gallery of images from David Alan Harvey's new book, Divided Soul >>

For much of his career, David Alan Harvey, a National Geographic staff photographer from 1978 to 1986, has trained his lens on the Hispanic world. He's traveled and photographed extensively in Spain, Cuba, Mexico, Peru, Chile, Brazil, and nearly every other country in the Latin American Diaspora. Various assignments have also brought Harvey to Southeast Asia, Germany, France, and Italy, among other places. His work has appeared in a wide array of publications, including National Geographic, National Geographic Traveler, Life, The New York Times, and Sports Illustrated.

Harvey received the National Press Photographer Association's Magazine Photographer of the Year award in 1978 and joined the prestigious Magnum co-operative in 1997.

National Geographic News recently spoke with Harvey about his new book, Divided Soul. Published by Phaidon Press, Divided Soul highlights the colorful and lyrical world of Latin America, Portugal, and Spain.

What's the origin of the book's title, Divided Soul?

The book was completely my project, all the way through—the design, the layout, and the sequencing of the photographs. The title of the book, Divided Soul, came from a little book called Journey to the Alcarria, by Camilo José Cela. He talked about the divided soul of the Spanish spirit. So when I read his little book, and I read that little phrase in his book, I knew—15 years ago—that was going to be my title.

You mention the influence of the Spanish writer Cela on your work. In what way?

Cela was a great influence on me because of the way he looked at things. In other words, he obviously used words to communicate a visual experience. He described the way light played on the wall—cowbells jingling, children giggling, laughing—that sort of thing. I just like the way that Cela took an ordinary subject, an everyday event, and made it really interesting with words. So he became a real visual storyteller for me. Words and pictures do very different things from each other. But very often I'm inspired more by words than photographs.

You mention in your book a moment while taking pictures in a town in Spain that was particularly emotional. Is that common?

I think that being emotional is part of being a photographer. I think if you're going to be a photographer who really communicates with readers—as in the case of, say, a magazine or a book, or whether you're communicating with viewers of photographs in a slide show or exhibit, which is a different experience—I think that any photographer who is really in touch with himself or herself is going to produce more compelling photographs.

The cover of your book shows an image of a Maya man in a Protestant church in Mexico. Was there controversy in some of the other possible cover choices?

There was no controversy in picking the cover. There may have been a lot of thinking about it, because we had four or five different covers that we were looking at. And finally, this one became the cover. It coincidentally is the oldest picture in the book. I shot that photograph of the old man in the Protestant church, I think in 1975. So by sheer coincidence it became the oldest photograph. But that was just a pleasant surprise really; I liked it because of that. We just picked it because, like a lot of the photographs in the book, the cover photograph asks a question. And I think—I'm very often thought of as being a journalist—but I think, in this particular book, there is more of the art side of me that comes out. Even though there are some questions answered, there are more questions raised. I like the ambiguity of that photograph.

How so?

Because you're not quite sure what he's doing. It connotes, perhaps, a religious experience. But you're not really sure. He's looking away, out of the photograph. Then off to the right is his hat. So it just asks a few questions. It's a little mysterious, and…it's very, very quiet.

We thought about using an 'in your face' kind of photograph, because there are some of those in the book as well. At first, we had an opposite kind of picture that was very sensuous, graphic. Then we thought that it would take you off in another direction. So I think the point of both the photographs—the one on the cover, and the one on the back—was to leave you with a little feeling of mystery and be surprised by perhaps some of the other imagery that you see in the book.

You've said that you primarily use a Leica, a small, simple, and expensive 35mm camera made in Germany. There are not very many extras to it. What's the philosophy behind your equipment choices?

I have always been a firm believer in simplicity—simplicity in the way that I approach people. And one of the ways that I approach people, in terms of my own persona when I'm talking to people, is to use equipment that is very clean, and simple, and unobtrusive. I've always been a believer in one camera, one lens, one film. For one thing, it makes life easier for me. And I think it makes life easier for my subjects. They tend not to be afraid of the equipment that I have because it's minimal and it allows me to go out there on the edge from an artistic standpoint as well. So, less is more.

And does that come from Cartier-Bresson, the French giant of 20th-century photography?

I think Henri Cartier-Bresson was the first photographer who I really admired. And one of his basic tenets, from the way he worked, was one camera, one lens, one film, one paper. I read that, and I believed that. It made sense. In practice, it's worked for me. It wasn't just something that I stuck to because he said it. But that was certainly the first time that I heard it. It just happened to fit in with the way I was feeling about things anyway.

When I first came to National Geographic… I kind of used a lot of equipment for two or three years. Then I quickly went back and thought: "I really don't need to do this. I can keep things simple." From then on, I did.

You're now trying digital photography. How do you think that differs from this "one film, one camera, one lens philosophy" that you have?

Well, I've done a little bit of experimenting with digital photography. Whether that actually enters my professional life, I have no idea. Because I don't know enough about it—I've just been working with it a little bit. But even with that, the first thing that I tried to do when I picked up the digital camera was to simplify it.

In other words, there are God-knows-how-many combinations on that digital camera. I immediately reduced it down to two or three things that I saw would work really well. I light-balanced it out. I put it in one mode, and I just stayed there. I did use only one lens with the digital camera as well. But still, I think film is the medium for me—for my serious work.

What do you hope to communicate through your photos? What do you hope people experience?

Well, I have two aspects to my work. One is that I'm a magazine photographer, by trade, by profession, by career. In that sense, I'm trying to communicate things to viewers—readers of a magazine, but namely National Geographic, because they probably are not going to go to these places. So there's a basic desire just to communicate on a basic level. Then there's another side, where I'm trying to communicate on a more subliminal level with the subtleties of light, moment, and emotional experience.

Getting back to your book, it covers the whole of Latin American or Hispanic Diaspora. What is it about that area of the world that so captivates you?

I think I became interested in the Spanish migration—or Diaspora, if you will—into the Americas quite by accident. I was given an assignment at National Geographic, that I was totally unqualified for, on the Maya in the Yucatán, in Mexico. And I just got caught up in it. I think anyone would. I got caught up in the archaeology, the science that the Maya had. But mostly I got caught up with the anthropology and the history that led up to the current cultural anthropology with the Maya. Then I went back to Spain—back in the sense that I was going back to where the conquistadors had come from in the first place. I kept going back and forth. It just became a subject that was fascinating to me.

Will you continue to focus on this region, and these people?

Well, I've been in love with the Spanish/Portuguese Diaspora for so long, I can't imagine myself losing interest in it. But I've got a couple of other projects now. I've got two more books coming. Actually, Divided Soul is kind of the first in a trilogy… so my interest is going to be in the next two books. But how could I ever not stay involved with this subject? I just probably won't be doing another book on it, that's all.

What will your other books cover?

Well, I can't tell you that (laughs). The next two books will be completely different, but connected. In other words, Divided Soul will lead to book number two. Some of the characters may move forward, as any trilogy does. Then the last book will sort of wrap it all up.