One has to admire Charles Fréger’s courage in view of the enthusiasm shown by numerous contemporary photographers for portraits of middle-class families or individuals, and the masses of pictures of friends to which many an artist’s repertoire is limited. Through his pure compositions – frontal full-body, half-body and portrait photographs – before a neutral background, Fréger succeeds in conveying the composure and self-awareness of people who are less prominent in the consciousness of a potential public, and who are usually only noticed at certain times. And those viewers who find the world of female figure- skaters just as strange as that of sumo wrestlers or railway engineers in Budapest, will realise how cliché-ridden their responses have been until now when they look at Fréger’s photographs. They have been shot with as much calmness and care as his portraits of beauty queens, trainees from the milk-processing industry and legionnaires.

Fréger does not, however, get too close to the subjects. They don’t become the projection surface of the photographer. Instead he provides them with a restrained unemotional opposite that does not impose restrictions upon them. Fréger cannot be at home in the world of Japanese martial arts disciples with all their traditions, as well as in the world of budding members of the foreign legion or its veterans. Yet his view seems to allow them space to be themselves, a space for them to use.

Most of Fréger’s series show groups whose profession or vocation is strongly ritualised. It is therefore important that he includes clothing rather than just limiting physiognomy to the face. Sometimes we sense uneasiness in their pose, a certain sadness that might be because their uniform is not always flattering. The figure-skater lets her shoulders droop – there is no hint of the proud erect pose that we have come to expect – and she plays awkwardly with her fingers. Only the face of the trainee in the milk-processing factory, who wears a white overall and cap before an aseptic white background, livens up the sad scenario of her training conditions. In another series, for which Fréger has brought a group of majorettes to a standstill, the portrayed figures have a melancholic air about them, reminding us of butterfly specimens that have retained both sheen and colour. Do we want to look so closely at their make-up that it appears gaudy and at clothing that is meant to be seen from a distance?

There is a charming interplay between the stereotypical outfits and the unequivocal expression of individuality. The uniform is what unites the portrayed into a series, what constitutes more than one facet of their lives; a sign of what defines them.

Fréger takes time over his projects and the result of this way of working is that it fades out the anecdotal with a wealth of results. It allows for the comparative view that focuses our attention. At the same time, some remoteness remains that is lessened by sympathy for the portrayed so that standards of classical beauty are rendered unimportant: it is pointless to pursue discoveries that no longer contain secrets. And these discoveries can be made in each picture, regardless of how fascinating the concept is as a whole.

Fréger preserves above all, moments of adolescence, when we search for acknowledgement through the habitual, through rites and customs. The resulting work is not a whole cosmos, no pretentious “face of our time”, but an archive of individual expressions. The portrayed respond to our gaze, just like they responded to that of the photographer: in a serious, dignified and decisive manner. Vis-à-vis.

The interrelations of the complex series are a constitutive feature of Fréger’s photographic exploration. That is why his publications work just as well as his exhibitions. We find in them combinations of portraits such as young legionnaires at the beginning of their career juxtaposed with older, highly decorated veterans. The theory of Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari comes to mind, that a face is never a given, but only always realises itself when it interacts with another. The elder is a mirror what the youth might someday become. In the youth, the elder sees a part of himself. The chest of the young legionnaire does not have hair. His pale torso only bears a tattoo, and his expression is guarded and defensive. In contrast, the highly decorated non-commissioned officer with white hairs in his curly beard and the tired expression of someone who has seen too much, is like the youth’s projection into the future. There is seriousness in the appearance of all Fréger’s protagonists and the general wish that removing the mask will not reveal another mask. There remains a suspicion that the mask is the true face, but there is hope that in the moment that it is photographed something lasting will express itself – no matter how temporary, momentary and coincidental it may seem.

Translated by Jennifer Greitschus.