Leifer was probably the only sports photographer with the empathy and experience to capture both the thoughtful man and the savage fighter.
His 1970 photograph of Ali in a training camp shows him stooping slightly to see himself in a mirror that’s a little shorter than he is. The posture is humble, but his confidence is still apparent as he gets set to regain the heavyweight title of which he was stripped for refusing to serve in the Army. Leifer’s photograph captures the fleeting moment of doubt evident in the knitted brow, and the mirror
image provides the perfect metaphor for a sport loaded with dualities -- violence and beauty, triumph and defeat.
One of Leifer’s most famous photographs captures the moment right after
Ali knocked out Sonny Liston in a 1965 bout. Ali, his face contorted in
an expression of animal ferocity, stands legs spread with his right arm
swung across his chest as if re-enacting the decisive punch. I viewed
the photograph and, despite my abhorrence of the violence inherent in
human nature, couldn’t help but vicariously enjoy the power and
exhilaration Ali must have been feeling.
At the other end of the spectrum is Leifer’s photograph of a 45-year-
old Sugar Ray Robinson walking back to his corner after a punishing
round in what would ultimately be a defeat. Body slumped, arms hanging
limply by his sides, sweating profusely and obviously exhausted, it’s a
study in pathos, with no indication he was once a great champion. No
fans are visible in the frame, only the fighter, alone in defeat. An
artist’s intuition knows when a simple picture speaks a thousand words.
Leifer’s favorite picture is abstract by sports photo standards and
reminds me of the iconic modernist painting, “White on White.” The
photograph captures the conclusion of the Ali-Cleveland Williams fight
from a remote overhead camera. The square format of the print echoes
the shape of the canvas ring. Ali is standing and the overhead angle
reduces him to a line and three dots. Williams is down, his body
forming an almost perfect X. The bird’s-eye view supplies a literal and
emotional distance that simplifies life’s battles -- win some, lose
some.
Muhammad Ali knocks out Cleveland Williams, November 1966.
Photo by Neil Leifer
The skills needed to be a great journalistic photographer may be
different than those needed by a conventional artist, but both require
the same intuition and empathy to create an enduring work of art. Neil
Leifer has more than enough skill, experience and humanity to be
considered an artist.
Neil Leifer’s sports photographs may someday become American art icons, along with Warhol’s soup cans and Pollock’s splatter paintings. Stranger things have happened. Leifer, who has 50 years of experience photographing sporting events including the Olympics, does not identify himself as an artist. He calls himself a photojournalist, which brings to mind the fact that much of what we label art was done by professional craftsmen in the service of the church or crown. Some objects we consider art weren’t created as such, but meant to serve magical or ritualistic purposes. Today, in all the visual arts, the line between fine and commercial art has been blurred, if not completely erased, and photography has stepped beyond its documentary role to become accepted as an art.
This begs the question: What makes an object a work of art? In
addition to being well-crafted, it should resonate deep within our
psyches, stir our fears and aspirations, and be memorable. Do we see
those elements in works of contemporary art? Not very often. What
modern art lacks in human drama, the spin-meisters supply by way of
biography; there’s a boatload of Sturm und Drang in the lives of
Jackson Pollock and Andy Warhol (to give just two examples). The former
was a self-destructive alcoholic, the latter a voyeuristic instigator
of others’ self-destruction.
No spin is necessary to understand and identify with Leifer’s images of
the sports greats, particularly those in the boxing arena. Boxing has
often inspired artists interested in the essential human drama of
triumph over adversity and pain. In modern times issues of race and
power are added to the mix. In short, you have a compelling subject for
an artist. And Muhammad Ali, his face registering thought as well as
emotion, was an artist’s/photographer’s dream.
Leifer’s photographs of Ali reveal a complex individual. No fighter was
more loved and hated than Ali. Sassy, sweet, arrogant and charismatic,
he could deliver a one-liner Henny Youngman would be proud of (“My
toughest fight was with my first wife”), sagacious (“A man who views
the world the same at 50 as he did at 20 has wasted 30 years of his
life”), and painfully honest, (“Boxing is a lot of white men watching
two black men beat each other up.”)
Susanne Forestieri was the winner of the prestigious 1996 National
Endowment for the Arts fellowship in painting. As an NEA fellowship winner, she is represented in the Smithsonian Museum of American Art.
She can be contacted at [email protected].