contactprojectjournal the space between us.

Art and Boxing

(image copyright Jules Allen)

i. Ringside

This Sunday Gleasons boxing gym in Brooklyn hosted a book release party for renowned photographer Jules Allen’s newest book Double Up. The monograph compiles photographs taken by Allen at Gleasons in the seventies and eighties, back when Fight Night was as much of a event as football on Sundays, when Boxing was still broadcast on network TV and Pernell Whitaker, Sugar Ray Leonard, Mike Tyson and Evander Holyfield and many more were household heroes.

Many say that it was the corruption of the Boxing industry, the dilution of prestige as the sport was flooded with too many leagues, titles and belts that dethroned the sport in mainstream America. Others blame Football’s rise in popularity, pushing boxing out of the limelight as America’s battlefield of choice. America’s eye may have wandered but the art world’s love affair with the sport has never faltered.

Gleasons gym, a Boxing landmark, is located these days in a large cement loft in Brooklyn. While it continues to be a active home to many pro-boxers and veteran trainers, Gleasons makes a significant part of its income from the arts. A contract signed by gym members surrenders the rights to ones image while on the gym’s premises and on any given day photographers, filmmakers, painters both student and professional can be found ringside. As a result many of the gym’s boxers may appear periphery or as the main focus of b-roll for a documentary on PBS or as the subject of a student of the New School’s photojournalism assignment. What Bruce has figured out and banks on is that while the mainstream’s infatuation with the sport is fickle, artists continue to care - and they will pay for access.

The reception for Jules Allen’s new monograph was full of veterans of the photography world including famed NYtimes photojournalist Chester Higgins. The gym, typically full of sweaty fighters sparring was for the occasion brimming with eccentrics of the world of photo reportage, jazz musicians and writers. Allen’s black and white photographs, whose rich tones and darks capture the physical beauty of the bodies of gladiators of the sport as well as the many characters, bookies, trainers, managers and entourage that populate boxing’s world, has good company. Take the work of artist Wardell Milan, famous for his montage and collage imagery whose well known body of work on Boxing Battle Royale uses collage, ink, and sketches to depict the psycological experience of a fighter:

(image copyright Wardell Milan)

Recently Bomb Magazine reviewed new release At The Fights which compiles some of literature’s greatest writers’ essays on Boxing. Films like the new sci-fi Real Steel, The Fighter, Girl Fight, Million Dollar Baby, and smaller budget productions such as recently released documentary Born and Bred come out yearly and seem to be in a constant state of production. Recently Spike Lee announced that he had begun filming a new HBO series based on Mike Tyson’s youth. The fictional show will take place in Newark, New Jersey and will center on a young, up and coming boxer trying to make it big. 

(Stars of documentary Born and Bred)

The romanticism of Boxing is alive and well but what about the sport itself?

ii. The State of the Ring

As summer of 2011 came to a close boxing seemed poised for a comeback. Floyd Mayweather jr. the last great American boxer and reigning champion of three weight categories was about to have his first pro-fight after a nearly two year long hiatus. His opponent, the much younger and greener Victor Ortiz was portrayed by his camp as hungry for Mayweather’s throne. A series of reality TV episodes and a number of volatile press conferences helped to build the media frenzy pro boxing matches used to be treated to regularly. Mayweather, who included a rematch clause in the fighter’s contract, spoke of the fact that he was getting older “nearing forty.” The veteran fighter was set to make over 40million dollars for the twelve round fight alone.

The day of the fight the tension was palpable in barbershops, on stoops and street corners across the country. Luxury sports bars like the 40/40 club in New York charged viewers as much as $1000 a table and millions of homes cued up their pay-per-view. For the night boxing had the country’s attention as everyone gathered to see if Mayweather still had it, if Ortiz was capable of ushering in a new era of the sport and in many ways to see if boxing itself still possessed that magic that had captivated audiences for centuries.

Dressed in a futuristic patchwork of flourescent orange and black Mayweather looked confident if not slightly ridiculous as he made his way to the ring with his many young children and none other then the rapper 50cent. Ortiz had physical advantage that night, weighing in 14lbs heavier than Mayweather at officiating earlier in the evening. 

Before the end of the first round it was clear Ortiz was lost. Mayweather, whom is known for the strategic accuracy of his punches kept Ortiz at arms length with a continuous series of jabs. It was intelligent boxing but not revolutionary boxing. If Ortiz was the fighter as advertised, or perhaps if someone in his corner had a better education in the sport he would have known to walk right through Mayweather’s punches blocking and struggling for the close range he needed to have any shot at impact; but Ortiz seemed to hesitate. The bout was only just warming up when it happened - the strangest sequence of events in a boxing match in recent memory.

First a headbutt from a frustrated Ortiz whose uppercuts were doing little good on an agile Mayweather pressed against the ropes. The headbutt, illegal in the sport and a sign of a lack of control, ethics or to put it plainly “kahonas” brought the round to an immediate hault as the referee called timeout. 

Suddenly Ortiz in a state of muddled horror at his actions was kissing Floyd Mayweather on the cheek. “I’m so sorry” he appeared to say. 

Ortiz’s body language was that of a concerned compatriat, of a brother, not an opponent. Mayweather, who has rarely exhibited sympathy or manners during his fifteen year career seemed taken aback and then simply irked with the younger fighter’s quest for forgiveness. The referee motioned them into the center of the ring, muttering for them to start he turned his attention to the scorekeeper off camera where he was instructing for the loss of points to Ortiz’s scorecard. The boxers touched gloves and in a moment that can only be likened to a breakdown, a dissolution of purpose, Ortiz went to kiss mayweather A SECOND TIME, attempting an embrace with his opponent before turning to look for the absentee referee. At this point an irate Mayweather seized his moment. A wound up right and a left and less than four rounds in the fight was over.

Later a shocked Ortiz told reporters “it happens” but honestly, it doesn’t. He had violated a basic and amateur rule in boxing protect yourself at all times, but more disturbingly for all boxing talking heads and fans he had displayed vulnerability in a sport whose entire art is the masking of that human fact. Mayweather had not been merciful but it was his job not to be.

More to the point all the bad behaviour that has hindered the sport of boxing itself was on full display that night: the ref who lackadaisically and unprofessionally signaled the restart of the round with half attention, Ortiz the young fighter who as it turns out was nowhere near ready for this opportunity, and Mayweather one of the last remaining big ticket stars of boxing who views his talent with a sense of mild interest as a way to further support his already excessive lifestyle. The fierce passion, personalities and politics of the age of Ali were nowhere to be found. Who in that ring that night truly cared about the fight? Not Ortiz, not Mayweather and not the referee. The fans shrugged it off and boxing fades back into it’s niche corner of the sporting world with a promise that one day soon Mayweather may face a real challenge from Phillipino world champion Manny Pacquiao.

iii. Nostalgia

(Reference: Pernell Whitaker v. Jose Louis Ramirez ii, Alicia “Slick” Ashley v. Elena “babydoll” Reid)

If boxing at times lacks sportsmanship, formally it has never lacked aesthetic sensibility. Many of the legends of boxing are not so because of the number of wins versus loses of their career but are remembered for the graceful athleticism they displayed when they fought. The sport operates with a set of physical rules often compared to the highly structured dances of another time such as the waltz. The positions of boxing traced back to the ancient civilizations of Egypt, Greece and Rome, requires a fighter to stand with their legs triangulated and spread, and to move counter intuitively one foot after the other either right, left, forward or back. 

The movements of boxing are at their best and even to some extent at their worst, based on multiple sets of rhythms. The fists set their own set of irregular beats and then the body has its own unique tempo bouncing from side to side. Add in the feet and you have the full percussion section of a song. If you ever watch boxing with a pop song on you will find that the boxers bodies almost seem to immediately fall in line with the music’s tempo. This is because boxing requires the implementation of several fairly basic beats, comparable to the drums in your favorite pop song. It would be interesting to have a musician attempt to break down the tempos of several boxers, one wonders if they might determine a bob and weave in 4/4 and sets of punches in double time. Those who master the act of boxing an opponent become in-tune with their opposition, able to predict and almost immediately react to the most sudden offense. 

The pace of boxing is determined by a give and take. One plays defense while an opponent plays offense. While in the midst of offense a fighter tends to drop defense, opening themselves up. When fighters grow tired punching or defending they tie each other up entangling arms, literally resting on one another. Slipping, a prophetic technique implemented by the most skilled boxer or by a mediocre boxer when facing a much lesser opponent, is a way of avoiding a blow with just a the slight movement from a jabs final point of impact; this final touch to a sport which already has grizzled coaches instructing young boxers to consider the waltz, is quite simply dance.

The poetics of boxing formally are only one part of the equation. Boxing is both a social and solitary sport. Rarely will you meet a professional boxer whom at some point in their life didn’t feel they had something to prove to someone else. The boxing gym is a social space populated just as much by people boxing as by trainers, entourage and people watching; the voyeurs gaze is inherently a part of the sport as is a intense sense of competition. Boasting is as integral to a boxer as the moves they exhibit in the ring. The inner dealings of boxing are a frequent topic of conversation in any serious gym and professional fights are typically arranged with a mix of favors, money and backdoor deals. Gambling is still a major bedfellow of boxing and the outcomes of fights support many more than just the fighter’s camp and the promoters. Many people spend their lives in boxing gyms - they have stories about world champions and tragic heartbreaks, if you will listen they will tell you about it. 

While basketball has a finite set of master players at any given time, there are literally thousands of local heroes in the sport of boxing. Everyday around the world a family with a history of boxers sends their kid to a gym, or a kid having a rough time is brought to a trainer to be taught discipline, or a girl who got beat up in middle school learns to protect herself, or a man who has been overweight his whole life becomes a light weight golden gloves champ. In every ghetto or barrio or backtown there is a kid too short to play basketball and too angry to play soccer who saw a Pacquiao fight or a Chavez fight and more importantly saw the money they made, and the dignity and respect they were given and wanted it. If you go to any given boxing gym in the outer boroughs of New York City on any given weekday you will see teenage boys who barely speak english - they should be in school but they are not in the US for that: they are here to fight and to win purses. 

Whether or not boxing will become marketable once more remains to be seen, but I’m beginning to understand that as long as there are boxers willing to take a fist in the eye, there will be someone with a camera who wants to understand why they fight.

— Madeleine Hunt-Ehrlich of CONTACT