Profiles

For almost as long as he's been taking pictures, Sydney Morning Herald photographer Steven Siewert has been fascinated by sub-cultures.

He's photographed the 'Crystal Children' celebrations in Thailand, the followers of John Frum on Vanuatu's Tanna Island, the sulfur miners of Kawah Ijen in Java, rodeo and surf lifesaving kids, trainee junior sumo wrestlers and others.

Leaning on a 1959 Cadillac, Johnno takes a break from his duties as best man at Matt and Kat's wedding to Doonside, western Sydney, in 2007.

About five years ago he began photographing the Sydney rockabilly scene. 'These guys just look so cool, the way they stand, the clothes they wear,' he said. 'Initially it was hard to approach them. But I got to know a few of the people, they introduced me around and I realised that they were absolutely lovely people. They had a fantastic idea of style and dress that I just wanted to record.'

Perhaps the 1950s were a reaction to the rationing and privations of civilian life during and immediately after World War II. But whatever the cause, it was clearly an era of exuberant fashion and eye-popping colour. And it has been enthusiastically embraced by the numerous rockabilly sub-cultures in Sydney and elsewhere around the world.

'You walk into this darkened room where everybody's dressed in 1950s clothing,' said Siewert. 'You have the psychobillies, the rockabillies, you have the rock and roll dancing people, you have the punkabillies, the hillbillies... everyone grabs their little part of this era and then puts a twist on it.

'There's a chivalry and etiquette around it which is lovely to watch. In recent times I don't even take my camera out of the bag. I just quite love observing it. Sometimes it's so dark in there that you can't do it justice – you have to have light – so you find yourself just standing there with a big smile on your face watching this whole thing.'

Asked if the rockabillies were a bunch of po-faced, re-enactment fans, Siewert said, 'it's far more fun. This is about being aficionados of the era. They know about the clothes, the cars, the music, the influences. They're all quite up on the times. But they just have a helluva lot of fun being part of it.

'That's the amazing thing. These people are yearning for a past in terms of style and music; one that they've actually never lived in. But, they still keep a firm grip on the modern day. So it's not as if they're in a time capsule as such, they have fun and it's their outlet. That's the nice part – photographing people having fun. It's quite an escape from my own day-to-day work, standing outside of courts and photographing people wanting to avoid being photographed.'

The Annual Greazefest is an event that takes place in Brisbane and which pays homage to the styles, cars, music and fashions of the 1950's.

When he's shooting for The Sydney Morning Herald, Siewert uses the latest digital kit. But when it comes to his personal work, the SMH's Canon DSLRs stay in the bag, and he gets out his film cameras instead.

'I try to partition my work projects from my personal projects with film. And, I use different cameras for different things. So I've got everything from a Mamiya C330 [a 120 roll film camera] to a Mamiya press camera with a Polaroid back that I've been using with the Polaroid 665 film.

'I shot the rockabilly portrait series on that. I set up a little photo booth at two of the festivals, invited people to come in and photographed them with a white sheet background. [With the Polaroid film] you get a ragged edge and an almost rough texture.'

But, he added, 'it's the only time I used black and white in the rockabilly series. I toyed around in the beginning with whether I should use black and white or colour. But the colour gave it a richness. The '50s that was a really colourful era, the cars became colourful along with the dresses and suits. It would have been a shame to shoot it in black and white.'

Using analog technology for subjects meticulously dressed in decades-old fashions has had its amusing moments too. 'One of my colleagues come up to me and said “how old are you?”. I told him I was 44 and he said “you must have started taking photos at a very young age”. When I asked why, he said “Ah well, these 50s photos...” and I said “You didn't read the story. It's about today. These people have never lived in the '50's, they're all born post-'50s and '60s.'

Managing expectations
While the SMH connection can be very useful, Siewert says that he needs to be careful when he approaches people for one of his personal photography projects. The impact of gentrification on Sydney's many subcultures has long intrigued him, so he encountered the issue of subjects' expectations when he began documenting members of the dwindling pigeon racing fraternity.

'At work it's a very simple thing,' Siewert explained, 'but when you're doing private work, you can't say “Hi, I'm from The Sydney Morning Herald” because you're not shooting it for them. So I say “I'm a photographer who works for the Sydney Morning Herald, however I'm not working for them at the moment. This is a personal project and I would like to take your photos.” And they say “what for?” [and I tell them] “Well, for a photo essay, to eventually appear in a magazine.” Or, “I'm hoping to get an exhibition up." But you can't promise them anything from it. I've got no assurances that there will be an exhibition, no assurances for publication - but I have faith in my photographic talents and more importantly, that the subject matter is going to get some interest.'

Important as such assurances are, it is evident from speaking with him that Steven Siewert's persistent and dedicated approach to a project is the thing that wins him the most respect. 'I like to immerse myself as much as I can,' he said. 'The more time you spend on a job, the more the people you're photographing become relaxed about you being there. You start getting those unguarded moments that are observed without them noticing you.'

Pigeon racing is a winter sport says Siewert. The birds are released en masse in what is called a "liberation". 'When you do the liberations it has to be early in the winter season because that's when they've got the most birds,' he explained. 'And also it's the shortest distance from Sydney. The first liberations are maybe 130km from Sydney. It's almost like a training program. By the end of the season, they're liberating them from a thousand km away.'

The photo opportunities from each liberation are rather limited however. 'The liberation takes about ten seconds,' said Siewert. 'It's easier at the beginning of the season because you're driving for about an hour and half for a 10-second liberation. But as you go through the season, your drive is further and further and the birds are fewer because they've been taken by hawks, or otherwise been lost. The trucks get smaller and the liberations get smaller. That first six weeks is the key time because that's when you get the masses of 8000 birds being released.'

'The funny thing is, you talk to the guys who actually race the pigeons and a lot of them have never seen a liberation,' Siewert explained. 'They're at home waiting for the pigeons. So they ask me “What's it like?”'

11,500 racing pigeons liberated for the start of the race from Greenwell Point.

The pigeon racer subculture has something in common with a couple of Siewert's other photography projects. Like the members of Vanuatu's John Frum-worshipping cargo cult or the last of the first-generation immigrant barbers in Sydney's inner west, the racers are gradually disappearing in the face of encroaching cultural change. For the cargo cultists it is the steady pressure of other religions proselytizing in their region, while for the barbers it is the inexorable force of generational change.

'If greyhound racing is a poor man's horse racing, then pigeon racing is a poor man's greyhound racing,' said Siewert. 'A lot of it's been passed down through their families to them, but they find it really hard to pass it down to their own children. The guys are getting older, the clubs are getting smaller. They're merging or closing. The federations are merging too. They used to have about four or five federations, now I think they've got two or three.

'Leichhardt used to be called “the millionaires' club” and once had about 80 members. These days I think it's got three or four members. Which also gives you an idea of the gentrification of Sydney. A lot of them have moved to the outskirts of Sydney. A guy's been racing pigeons for 40 or 50 years, the house next door gets sold, the young couple move in, they start renovations and a week later the complaint goes into Council about the pigeons. So it's also sort of a look at gentrification of working class areas.'

Working for the SMH helps to keep the wolf from the door, but Siewert has also made moves to extend his photographic network. He recently joined Oculi, a decade-old group of photographers who share their work through a very nice website (www.oculi.com.au).

'It's been perfect for me because I've always wondered what I can do with all this work that I've been doing,' said Siewert. 'It's great to have a site that people can just log on from anywhere around the world and look at the stories and your pictures. It has a bit of a cult following and it's surprising who looks at it.

'We get calls from all sorts of people, but especially from Europe saying “we really like these photos of Australia. They're completely different from postcard photos. We want more of a gritty look.”

'The digital age is great for covering news and getting it out there quickly. But at times it's so clean that it can be too clinical. You want a bit more of an edginess, a roughness to the photography. The warts and all.

'Sometimes, it's about taking the risk,' Siewert added.

'I'll always remember one of the great instances of this appeared in the World Press Awards a few years ago,' he said. 'There was a series of portraits of the people mourning the Pope's death in St Peters Square. And,' he concluded, 'I thought, rather than turn your camera on the event itself and the ceremony around the person who has passed away, you've brought it back to the people who are the worshipers, the people he influenced.'

Steven Siewert's work may be seen in the Sydney Morning Herald and on the oculi.com.au website. His email address is: ssiewert@oculi.com.au

See Photo Review magazine Issue 39 for the print edition of this profile which includes additional images.

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