Finding Beauty in the Unexpected
Vera Mercer on Still-Life Photography
“It doesn't go together,” Vera Mercer says of the objects she brings together in her still-life photographs. A sheep’s head beside a vase, flowers among antique objects, food arranged alongside reminders of decay: her compositions draw their force—or “strength”, as she likes to call it—from unexpected encounters.
Born in Berlin in 1936, Mercer began her photographic career in 1960s Paris, taking portraits of her husband, Daniel Spoerri, and other members of the Fluxus group and the Nouveaux Réalistes. She also documented the work and artworks of Jean Tinguely, Eva Aeppli, Marcel Duchamp, and Niki de Saint Phalle. From the early 2000s onwards, her work increasingly turned towards still-life photography, resulting in large-scale, neo-Baroque compositions featuring flowers, fruit, stuffed animals, antique glassware, and glowing candles. Her photographs have been exhibited in Germany, the United States, Mexico, and Japan. In this interview, Mercer reflects on the objects that draw her eye and her ongoing search for beauty and strength through still-life photography.
What did you see, hear or feel growing up that still shapes the way that you look at things?
I grew up just after the war, in November 1936. My father was a set designer—that was very important—and later on, when I had lived in Paris and came back to Germany, I made the photos for the models that he made. And that was the first time that I photographed models—and that is naturally like a still life, in a way. But this was a long, long time before I made still life.
How does the picture now begin for you? Does it begin with an idea? Does it begin with an object? Or maybe also a feeling?
How it begins is the biggest thing. For example, in your back there is a head of a sheep [Vera points at one of her still lifes depicting a sheep head]. I know I can get that. And from then on, I look around to find what I think goes with it. What is the good thing in my still life? It doesn't go together. It's not what anybody else would really put together. It is, by chance, often something completely contrary to what you would think such a picture should have. And why would I cut the vase up, for example? It comes from itself. And all this is coming from itself. Yeah, I think so. It's very amateuristic.
Which moments in your life changed your work?
Nothing, I think.. Oh, yeah, the first camera, naturally. Jean Tinguely gave me the first camera. And then I mostly photographed artists. In the night, we did go to the island in Paris. And so it came with the first camera. But it was not a very good camera. It was a Yashica. That is the second degree of Rolleiflex. But then it fell down, and then I bought my first Leica. I had no idea that a Leica is something very unbelievable but I wanted it. I became a waitress for, I think, two weeks, and I had my camera. It was the M2. That I will never forget. I came much later back to the Leica. I am a freak of cameras.
Were there any other moments in your life that changed your way to photography?
The way? I cannot tell because it developed slowly and not through anything. It may be when you don't have the right camera. Because every camera changes your view, yeah? And every lens also, that's why one likes to change lenses because then something new happens. So, but I have lots of different cameras, and lots of different lenses, so it changed quite a bit. But I must say that my outlook on photography has not changed very much.
Which themes or topics became more important than you ever expected them to become?
I mean, I have different kinds of themes. I like life, naturally. But not… For example, I have a friend, Dressel, who only photographed poor people, the poorness on the street. And it's very aggressive and very strong. I like the mood—the mood of somebody who can just sit there. But when I go aggressive, it's mostly when the face changes very quickly. In the beginning [with analogue photography], you couldn't take so many photos next to each other, so it came not by chance. You really needed to look for that moment, but you don't need it now anymore. Lots has changed.
What do you hope that someone feels when they stand in front of your work for a long time?
I would like them to see the beauty in the colours, the light and the mood. The mood, yeah.
What would you tell your younger self?
That she should look… slowly, but slowly I need to find another way, something different now. Because it's now very easy for me, this still life. I have tried to make just one thing. And this one thing needs to be as strong as lots of things and needs to have an atmosphere. I always look for strength. Not for anything else -- strength, and there needs to be strength in it. So I have still not really found that. I do, from time to time, find something like that. But people don't like it so much when I simplify—everyone who changes is not liked.
Is there anything in your photography that you would never portray?
Yeah, gruesome things. Because in reality, I would like this strength. I could have photographed a bloodbath. But I seem unable to do that so I don't think I will. It needs to be gruesome without showing everything, I think.
Want to see how Mercer’s unexpected combinations come to life? Visit her exhibition “still life – life still” at Leica Gallery Vienna and discover her richly composed photographs in person. Find the exhibition on myCULTURE.app.
