g. Paul Bishop

Portraits of Men

 

California Monthly
Alumni Publication, University of California
November, 1950

 

In 1938 a 23-year-old, red-haired, blue-eyed dental student at the University medical center in San Francisco was talking to Dr. Max Marshall, professor of bacteriology, about a common interest --- photography. After a while, Dr. Marshall returned to his student and said, "Paul, at your very best, you will probably be a second-rate dentist. But I am very sure that you could be an outstanding photography."

That student was G. Paul Bishop '39 who is today one of the nation's most distinguished and promising portrait photographers. And he admits now that his professor's remark was right.

Dr. Marshall's prediction was made despite several important facts. In the first place, when Paul graduated from Armstrong college in Berkeley in 1935, he still hadn't made up his mind as to his career. So he went to a vocational counselor who took tests and found that Paul was good at biology and chemistry and had fine "digital dexterity." So the counselor prescribed dentistry as Paul's best career possibility. Stranger yet, Paul was top man in Dr. Marshall's bacteriology classes.

But to overshadow both of these factors was a part of Paul's personality that the counselor didn't count on --- and Dr. Marshall did. It is Paul's intense sensitivity to people and their welfare and a driving need for some form of creative expression. Paul knew that he was dissatisfied with dentistry as a career and this feeling eventually would have kept him from becoming a great success in the profession.

Paul's photographic interests began when he was a student at San Leandro high school and was given a camera for his birthday¹. "In that camera I found a means of expression more satisfying than any I had ever before known," he recalls. His first "serious" picture, oddly enough, was of a smooth and lonesome egg which he made as an assignment for a camera club competition. But his photography developed rapidly and he worked his way through school taking pictures of fraternity and sorority gatherings in Berkeley.

Taking Dr. Marshall's advice to heart, Paul took a leave of absence from the dental college in 1938 and opened a garret studio in the Berkeley business district. "And I fell flat on my face," Paul said the other day. "I knew nothing about business. I should have known that you can't be a starving artist in a garret and attract people who want glamorous pictures. You have to do that sort of thing in a plush setting."

So Paul hired out to another photographer for a year and then went to Hollywood where he learned some new tricks. When he came back, he was ready to start a new studio.

This time, his studio was located on Grand Avenue in Oakland. "That started the Gold Plated Era." Paul recalled, "an era of bear rugs and pouted lower lips." Most of his Oakland customers were debutantes who wanted to become as glamorous as the Hollywood stars. And Paul knew how it was done. He had a plush studio this time, and charged prices that made his customers respect his work. Soon he had a nation-wide reputation and a prosperous future.

But there was something missing in all this luxury. Paul was still discontent. He was using all of the tricks he had sought so eagerly to learn, but his work was not self-satisfying. And today he treats his great reputation of that era as if it were the skeleton of a horsethief in his family closet.

Before he had been able to find himself, the war came along and Paul became an ensign in the U.S. Navy. As a photo officer, he spent several months going to photography schools in the states. At Barber's Point, a naval air station in Hawaii, he was an instructor. Then he went to sea on the U.S.S. San Jacinto and participated in the second battle of the Philippines. By this time, he was a Lt. J.G. After six months, he was made Lt. and photo officer and was transferred to the carrier U.S.S. Hancock, the ship on which he finished the war with a total of 21 months overseas and seven battle stars. He is now in the organized naval reserves as a Senior Photo officer attached to a reserve aerial reconnaissance squadron at the Naval air station in Oakland.

Under fire, out on the Pacific ocean, Paul had plenty of time to think, to take stock of himself and find out why he was so dissatisfied with what he had been doing. He found help in his soul-searching from a man for whom, to this day, Paul has the greatest respect.

On the wall in Paul's Berkeley studio there is a photograph of that man. He was about 34 years old when the picture was taken --- 100 miles off Tokyo aboard the U.S.S. Hancock. He wears a battle helmet and a life preserver. There are a couple of day's growth of beard on his chin, and a calm and fearless look in his eyes that makes him appear at complete peace with the world.

"He is the first man I have ever known who had completely conquered fear," Paul said, "I have seen him --- under fire --- removing his battle helmet and clamping it down over the head of a gunner's mate who had lost his own."

That helmet was different from the others on the ship in that a cross was painted on the front of it. The man was Father Doyle, a Catholic Chaplin who now has a parish in New Jersey. Although Paul is not Catholic, he found a deep friendship for Father Doyle, who through many long talks out on the sea and under fire, helped Paul find himself. And pointing to the picture in his studio, Paul will say, "His is the first truly great picture I ever made --- he helped me find purity.

"Out there, I made a pledge to myself," Paul continues, "For the rest of my life, I was going to seek absolute truthfulness, sincerity and honesty in my fellow man. It is a real project for living; a reason for being alive."

When he returned to the United States, he threw over his plushy studio on Grand Avenue, married a North Dakota farm girl who had been working in Oakland restaurant, and opened his present studio in Berkeley.

Paul gives a great deal of credit for the success of his pictures to his wife, Lou, who, although she is not an artist herself, has excellent taste and provides the inspiration, encouragement and frank criticism that Paul requires.

And that represents quite a bit when one realizes that with his new, purist attitude toward his art, Paul was forced to smash the reputation he had previously built for himself. He turned down pictures that he would previously have considered fine opportunities. Financially, things got so bad that last year he hired out as a carpenter to provide food and maintain his studio, which also serves as a home for him, his wife, and his daughter, Paulette². "We were lucky to make two pictures a month," Paul comments. But his wife has never complained. They wouldn't have it any other way.

When things got too unbearable in the city, they went to their stake out at Lake Alpine where Paul, single-handed, built a five-room mountain home out of stone.

His new attitude towards his art means a great deal to Paul. "I feel it is a great privilege to put real, honest people in my pictures. My ambition lies in the hope that someday my pictures will have an effect on the people who see them. I hope that in them people will be able to find greater faith in their fellow men."

High hopes? Maybe. But they are worthy ones, and held so sincerely that Paul has erected many barriers to his studio --- barriers intended to discourage glamour-seeking customers that would make the practical businessman shudder. The most significant barrier is the work itself which strips the subject of all that he considers himself to be and portrays only the naked truth of his character and personality. Paul never retouches a print and few people have the courage to be depicted in this manner³. But actually, Paul's photographs demonstrate a certain nobility and greatness that "plushy" studios are unable to portray. For Paul finds nobility in all men and tries desperately to reproduce it.

The other barriers that Paul has built are less abstract. He does not advertise. His studio isn't even listed in the yellow section of the phone book⁴. He wants to be known only by his work, and not by the claims he makes for it. He doesn't even sign his work⁵. "When people come to me," he explains, "they want a picture of themselves to be shown to their family and friends. They don't want it cluttered up with signatures."

Most amazing of all, he specializes in portraits of men⁶. "The average woman, I have found, wouldn't be satisfied with my work. They want flattery, not a straightforward and direct picture. And I have nothing to offer them." Despite his specialization, however, he will do portraits of women if they want them badly enough --- and the final picture has the same noble charm that is found in his portraits of men.

Another characteristic of Paul's business that would make the practical salesman throw up his hands in horror is a limited choice of size for the finished portrait. Paul says that he wants to be sure that what he sees through the lens will be exactly the same picture he gives to his customer. "I haven't an enlarger in the place." So now, Paul's customers have only one choice of size --- five by seven inches mounted and framed on a standard sized white mat⁷.

Paul plans his pictures before the sitting ever begins. And when his subject is once posed, Paul will rarely ask his customer to move more than a few inches.

The whole success in Paul's art has been derived from his ability finally to break through his own shell to find his true personality. And that same process is required in order to get the kind of pictures he wants. When asked if he had any special gimmick for getting to the inner personality of his subjects, Paul said, "If there is any key at all, it is in not having any gimmick whatsoever --- I make no sales talk."

Paul refuses to take pictures of people who are not acquainted with his work. Consequently, he rarely takes orders over the phone. But when customers come into the studio, he shows them his work and then explains his prices and his procedure.

Paul donated the ten cover photographs for the California Monthly free of charge. When asked if he wouldn't accept even a token payment (the ten covers would cost $350 at his regular prices), he refused. "I actually do better work when I'm not paid for it. The only reason I charge anything for my work is because I have to earn a living, and because, unfortunately, some people don't seem to appreciate things unless they pay a great deal for them. As for the covers series, I've already been paid ten different ways.

"Just the other day, a woman passing the studio saw that pictures of Andrew Lawson in the window (cover, September issue, California Monthly). She liked it, and came in to tell me about a retired minister of her church who had been known and loved for years. She wanted me to do a picture of him that she could pay for and donate to the church.

"I was also repaid when Dr. Pepper (Stephen Pepper, chairman of the art  department, and subject for a spring cover for California Monthly), came in for his portrait. He asked me to show him all the samples of work I had in the place and offered valuable criticism. He even asked if he could drop in from time to time to see how I was doing!" Paul considers this one of the high points in his career.

"No," Paul continued, "I don't want to be paid for these pictures. I'll be taken care of, I'm sure. I like to think of this series as my thanks to God for the privilege of being able to do what I'm doing."

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¹ The Camera was the one dollar, Kodak Brownie.

² Paulette is the eldest of three children. Patsy and Paul Jr. were later to arrive.

³ This is true to a certain extent. When Paul was working in the larger format (8X10 or 6X8) he once in a while was requested to do a minimal amount of retouching. When his work switched over to the 2-1/4 format, he instead bleached and spotted the print when requested. It is true that the largest body of his work had not been retouched.

⁴ In later years, he did place a small add in the yellow page section of the phone book. Most of his clientele was word-of-mouth.

⁵ In later years, he not only signed his prints but would title them with the subjects name and occupation. On the back of many prints, he kept notes about the type of camera and paper used in the process.

⁶ In the 1950s, Paul photographed working professionals that happen to be predominately men. In the latter part of his career, he felt much more comfortable photographing women.

⁷ This is a technique that Paul borrowed from Edward Weston. Again in later years, when working in the medium size format, this method had changed and he offered a variety of sizes. The most popular size, even for today, is the 5x7 size print. He rarely went any larger than a 9X12 size print.

Footnotes by G. Paul Bishop, Jr. - 2001

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_____. "G. Paul Bishop: Portraits of Men."  California Monthly. Vol. LXI, Alumni 
     Publication, University of California, No. 3 (November, 1950), pp. 20-21, 38-39.

 

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