From the loft

The archive reveals many aspects of daily life interrupted by terror or misfortune. The form of the archive is almost as diverse as the subject matter it depicts, comprising numerous media types ranging from large-format glass plate negatives to small, curling photographic prints. My mind often turns to the specifics of the camera and darkroom process originally used by police to create these images. I guess this is, in part, due to my photographic training. But over the last three years of acquaintance with this material I have also developed a deep fascination with the characters, talents and biographies of the photographers who created this profound documentation of crime and policing over a 50-year period.

Storage envelope no. 55/2987 containing 6 cellulose negatives

Ross Gibson’s Crime Scene opened at the museum in late 1999 and was the first exhibition to focus on the archive. Gibson limited his research to negatives dated from the post war period. By this time the New South Wales Police Department had established a special bureau responsible for investigative photography. From the late forties police negatives also became more organised: stored in small brown envelopes, usually noting details of the crime and photographer. Using the envelope names Gibson managed to track down retired members of the Scientific Investigation Bureau and interview them about their working life. During the interviews these ‘scientific men’ spoke about the technical equipment, examination practices and experiences they had in the forties and fifties, a time when forensic investigation was a newly emerging field for the police. This was also the museum’s first encounter with Walter Tuchin.

A decade on, Tuchin’s crime scene photography has returned to the museum. Walter Tuchin: Police Photographer currently showing in the Archive Gallery, is the museum’s first display of the work of a single, still living photographer from the archive. Tuchin worked as a member of the Scientific Investigation Bureau between 1952 and 1957. In the exhibition Tuchin’s crime scene photographs are presented in two formats. Vertical hanging strips, four images apiece, showcasing a variety of investigations, with small textual summaries derived from police and newspaper reports. Ten framed works also present the diverse and unpredictable nature of Tuchin’s daily work. A personal favourite of mine concerns an attempted suicide. The photo is taken from the edge of a cliff, at The Gap in Vaucluse: a giddy, aerial perspective reveals the power of the waves crashing on the jagged rocks below. Tuchin told me he lay down on his belly, while a detective held onto his heels, to take this image. All the while his upper body snaked over the cliff edge to achieve the best angle for the shot. One of many fascinating stories Tuchin shared, not documented in the official police records or news reporting of the event.

Scene of attempted suicide, The Gap, Vaucluse, 22 November 1955.

When I explore these archival photographs I sometimes imagine myself in the photographer’s position, being called to a crime scene with limited idea of what to expect or the particulars of the location. The chance to speak with Tuchin about his work gave me a personal perspective on the images and an understanding of the resourcefulness required when confronted by the random situations that arose. Tuchin’s gentle, warm and light-hearted manner often seems at odds with the difficult nature of the work he completed in the service of the community. I am still challenged to reconcile Tuchin the genial, elderly man, and the Tuchin, whose name appears on the small brown envelopes. But the more I hear, learn and understand of his experience the more deeply I appreciate the archive… not just for the astounding quality of its images but also for the human experience that lay behind them.