Statistically Speaking

In the summer of 1952, Simon & Schuster collaborated with Editions Verve to publish Henri Cartier-Bresson’s The Decisive Moment — a collection of 126 photographs, coupled with a 4500 word essay.

At the time of its publication, Cartier-Bresson was already a world renowned photographer — having deftly bridged the seemingly insurmountable gap between surrealism and photojournalism, while co-founding Magnum Photos some five years earlier.

The Decisive Moment is a seminal work of art by the most revered photographer of the 20th century — influencing thousands of photographers across multiple generations. Its very title became one of the most overused phrases in the history of the medium, along with ‘bokeh’ and ‘say cheese.’

And yet, between 1952 and 2015 — a span of 63 years — Henri Cartier-Bresson’s The Decisive Moment sold a mere 10,000 copies.

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In the summer of 2017, ICBC collaborated with BC Parks to produce a license plate featuring one of my photographs of Porteau Cove Provincial Park.

At the time of its release, I was (and still am) a nobody — having deftly bridged the seemingly insurmountable gap between electronic music product designer and professional parks photographer, without anyone actually noticing.

One cannot cross a street in British Columbia without seeing one or more vehicles adorned with “my” Porteau Cove license plate. I’ve spotted it on everything from economy cars to luxury SUVs to Ferraris.

Last month, I contacted BC Parks to see if they had any sales figures on my plate. They did. Between 2017 and 2021 — a span of 4 years — the Porteau Cove license plate has sold approximately 100,000 copies.

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Upon hearing this, several thoughts crossed my mind. First, of course, was “Pffffft! In your face, Cartier-Bresson!” This was accompanied by a little victory dance, punctuated by the spiking of my AGAT 18K camera, which I’ve retained specifically for such celebratory rituals.

But the notion that I’d exceeded 63 years of Decisive Moment sales by an entire order of magnitude — and that I’d done it in a mere four years — seemed positively ludicrous. There had to be a ‘catch.’

Thinking about it, I realized each copy of The Decisive Moment had likely changed hands numerous times over the years, as it passed from collector to collector. Because of this, it’s quite possible that those 10,000 physical copies of the book could have generated 100,000 actual sales, thrusting Cartier-Bresson and I into a tie.

But applying this logic to The Decisive Moment requires I also apply it to the Porteau Cove license plate. And the fact is, while it costs $50 to buy the physical plate, customers must pay an additional $40 every year — just for the right to keep it on their vehicle. In effect (and much like The Decisive Moment), each documented sale of a physical license plate results in multiple undocumented re-sales of the same plate. For example, a single Porteau Cove plate, sold in 2017, has now generated four additional re-sales — one for each subsequent year. So if we allow Cartier-Bresson to claim sales of 100,000 on a production of 10,000 books, I can surely claim sales of nearly half-a-million on a production of 100,000 plates.

So… “Pffffft! In your face, Cartier-Bresson!”

Even still, it doesn’t feel quite right to gloat. Maybe it’s the realization that millions of people have seen Henri Cartier-Bresson’s photos without ever owning a copy of The Decisive Moment. So sales figures aren’t a true measure of his reach. Then again, I don’t own a copy of my own license plate (too expensive), but that doesn’t mean I still don’t see the photo a dozen times a day — tooling around town on the backs of all those economy cars, luxury SUVs, and Ferraris. Which means, much like Cartier-Bresson’s book, one does not need to own the license plate in order to see the photo. And though I’m quite comfortable assuming every one of British Columbia’s 5 million residents has, by now, seen the Porteau Cove plate, I still feel somewhat guilty giving Cartier-Bresson the raspberry.

Sheepishly, though, I must admit the plate’s success has gone to my head. Lately, I’ve considered carrying around a Sharpie pen, and asking anyone with a Porteau Cove plate if they’d like me to autograph their bumper. I’ll also admit, if someone tries to cut me off on the freeway, I’ll happily yield the space to anyone with ‘my’ plate, whilst closing the gap to all those sporting one of BC’s ‘lesser’ plates.

But as much as I’d like to wallow in victory, it still feels hollow. Perhaps that’s because I don’t make a dime off that license plate photo. Or maybe it’s because I had zero control over which of my BC Parks photos ended up on a license plate, or how the photo was presented.

For example (and very much at odds with Cartier-Bresson’s philosophy), BC Parks cropped the heck out of my Porteau Cove photo. Originally a sweeping vista, it’s a shot that would be better suited to the luxuriously wide, 5:1 aspect ratio of a European license plate than to the squat 2:1 ratio of a Canadian plate. Alas, French licensing officials aren’t as inclined toward a photo of Porteau Cove than, say, one of the Côte d’Azur. Which, I suppose, makes this the perfect time to inform French licensing officials that I’m available for hire.

But the primary reason I won’t claim victory is because of the implication: that a lazy summer landscape can (and usually will) outsell anything contemplative and thoughtful. Frankly, the Porteau Cove photo isn’t one I’d have bothered to take, had I not been employed by BC Parks. Therefore I can’t rightfully consider the photo’s success to be my success, since it’s so at odds with who I am as a photographer. If I were king of the world, license plates would definitely be adorned more artistically.

For example, New Mexico’s plate would be stamped with Garry Winogrand’s photo of a toddler emerging from a darkened garage into the sunny Albuquerque suburban nothingness. Bumpers in Washington, DC would zip around with Lee Friedlander’s photo of a pigeon-shooing statue of Andrew Jackson, while Nevada gets Elliot Erwitt’s photo of a glassy-eyed woman confronting one of Las Vegas’ notorious one-armed bandits. Heck, if Ireland would slap Josef Koudelka’s photo of four men urinating in an alley onto a license plate, I might just emigrate.

But here, in my Province of BC, I would definitely not have chosen a Porteau Cove sunset shot as my claim to fame. Not even close. In fact, while I have hundreds of photos I’d be proud to see cruising around on the bumper of a Toyota, I’d probably stamp Fred Herzog’s “Man With Bandage” onto the BC license plate before anything I’d shot.

Of course, that would mean relinquishing my title as BC’s ‘License Plate King.’ But sometimes you gotta take one for the greater good. And besides, I haven’t really beaten Cartier-Bresson. You may have noticed that I quoted Decisive Moment sales stats for the years 1952-2015 — a period coinciding with the book’s first edition. But in 2015, Steidl published the long-awaited second edition, and while their printing quantities aren’t public record, I have no doubt this edition’s sales have absolutely trounced those of the Porteau Cove license plate.

Which is just fine with me. Because it means I can stop worrying about gunning for Henri Cartier-Bresson, and start thinking about more important things — like how to get one of my photos onto the Canadian $20 bill.

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©2021 grEGORy simpson

ABOUT THE PHOTOS: All four photos were shot with a Leica M10 Monochrom, with “Law of Attraction” and “A Place for Everything” using the 21mm Super-Elmar-M f/3.4; “Suns’ Eye” employing a 28mm Summicron-M f/2.8; and “Three Gyros and a Hotdog” using a mystery lens — not that I’m not trying to be coy: I simply forgot to make a note of my lens usage that day. I’m surprised this doesn’t happen more often than it does.

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