On display: January 7 - February 25, 2015 Hamilton Public Library, Central Branch, Gallery 4 Annex, Fourth Floor Photographs of violence and suffering are as old as the medium itself. But not all photographs of violence are violent photographs. Some have in them bits that are holdouts of hope or parts that carry messages of peace. While it is vitally important to recognize and acknowledge the atrocities that are represented photographically, looking towards the accidental, unintended bits on the margins or in the backgrounds of these pictures can be just as valuable. With photographic technology that has increased in simplicity (in terms of use and distribution) has come a marked increase in everyday encounters with a growing volume of photographs of cruelties and pain. Pictures of wars, terrorist attacks, rebellious insurgencies, along with photos of humans caught in typhoons, hurricanes, famines, epidemics are, frankly, ubiquitous. Criticisms and anxieties about displaying such pictures have also accompanied these pictures since their initial appearance (probably before that even, when pictures of horrors were painted or printed). Among them are arguments that these photographs are too graphic, and too realistic; that they are distressing and depressing for viewers. (Tellingly, no one ever mentions that the people in the photographs are recognizable in ways they aren't in painting or prints: what about the distress this causes them?) The concerns also include claims that the sheer intensity (quantity and quality) of these photos lead people to become numbed, or worse yet, bored by them. Of course where there are arguments, there are counter arguments. Among them are claims that atrocity photographs are in fact informative and necessary: they raise awareness of what suffering, what loss of supports, rights, and care, and what the extent to which humans go to hurt other humans looks like. Arguments aside, what comes out of these critiques is the fact that photography contains different information than can be described in even the most detailed report or most evocative text. Along with containing a unique level of detail, photographs are also oblique. Despite all the common post-modern complaints about media in general and photography in particular being too real to be real, hyper-manipulated, and corrupt, there is another way in which photography is slanted. Photographs also harbour information that is marginal, uncontrolled, and accidental, resulting in a plethora of different angles (points of view) to be taken by spectators. Roland Barthes, a French literary critic and philosopher, knew this about photography. For him, this aspect of photography was so stirringly important that he elevated it through the invention of a new term: punctum. Punctum is a detail that grabs the attention of the viewer away from the photo's coded (iconic, denotative or as Barthes contrastingly called it: stadium) or intended message. Photographs have a surface denotative meaning, something that is 'obvious' for spectators that are familiar with the cultural references. The photographer, editor, distributor try to control this framework of understanding through cropping, selection, editing, treatment, even by its placement within the publication or within a certain type of publication. But there are uncontrolled elements in photographs, Barthes described it as something that would 'prick' him. Long before me, visual theorists and photographic critics such as Barthes along with John Berger and Vilém Flusser pointed out photography's uniqueness compared to painting, drawing or print-making. Photography is not a medium like these others that are fully controlled by the artists; as a result, photos are more likely than not to include elements that are extraneous to the producers' intent. It is these parts, very often only small details, that have been known to attract spectators to look beyond the surface meaning of the pictures: this is the punctum, or what I am less jargon-y calling pieces or accidents. A special quality of punctum is, as Barthes said, that "a whole causality explains the presence of these details" (Camera Lucida: Section 18). With these little pieces, spectators can reach farther into the events of the photographs, go beyond its frame, trace its future and past, and delve into its deeper meanings. Interestingly, Barthes said these pieces or accidents were not part of press photography: "The journalistic photographs are received (all at once), perceived. I glance through them, I don't recall them; no detail (in some corner) ever interrupts my reading: I am interested in them (as I am interested in the world), I do not love them" [Sec 17]. For Barthes, press images tend to "'shout', not wound" or prick. While I don't disagree with his observation of what I would argue is the reality of much generic journalistic photography, I think Barthes was glossing for affect. He's too astute a thinker to be so essentialist. [For a more nuanced understanding of press photography, I suggest Ariella Azoulay, David Campbell, Suzie Linfield, and Sharon Sliwinski for more fulsome critical reflections.] Truthfully, when I was selecting photographs for this display, I was surprised by how many pictures had bits that touched me, pricking my attention. The ones in this exhibit may not be images that would register high on an atrocity photo scale (they are on display in public library), but many of the photographs of wrenching wretched scenes that I passed as I made my compilation could have been used - and may even have been more affective given the heightened contrast with the amplified misery.
For myself, these bits, these accidental occurrences - and they are occurrences more than they are material parts of photographs because of the spectator's active involvement in pulling these pieces into consciousness - have been a noticeable part of my relationship with photos for as long as I can remember. I have always enjoyed looking at photos more than reading or watching moving pictures or even watching real life unfold before my eyes. Watching is really what I do with photographs: I imagine the scene, what's beyond the frame, the past, 'present' and future of the event. What I am doing in this act of 'watching' is not accepting the surface message, but moving towards a deeper acknowledgement. In fact, I can honestly say sometimes I 'miss the meaning' as intended by the photo's developers entirely as I am too caught up in the lives and experiences (real and imagined) of the people & events in the pictures. The visual theorist Ariella Azoulay has also described her engagement with photographs as 'watching,' and Barthes was also sensitive to it when he compared his interest in the "pensiveness" of photography to the less appealing "continuous voracity" of film [Sec 23]. I became fully conscious of this occurrence several decades ago when I encountered a particular photograph in my local newspaper (Ottawa Citizen) of a bombing at a nightclub in Tel Aviv. The black and white image was of a chaotic stream of people fleeing a scene of dust and rubble. In the foreground of the picture was a woman. She was clearly crying, but not noticeably injured, and was being supported by a man whom I presumed to be her date that evening, but may as well have been a random bystander or emergency personnel. It was not the woman, but her nose ring that struck me. It was then (but maybe not only then) that I really realized that people in the middle east were 'modern'. Till that point, thanks to the constant barrage of images and nightly news casts of middle east violence, and my juvenile naivety, I assumed that these must be people stuck, fixed in a barbaric era, ignorant of civilization and peaceful processes such as democratic negotiations to end conflict. This realization on the one hand excited me: I can identify with people on the other side of the world, they are not so different from me. It also depressed me as I came to the realization that modern humans can be so relentlessly cruel. Yet that nose ring, or more likely the culmination of many more of these unexpected 'pricks' occurring with my encounters with photographs, also led me to hope. Whether it's an expression of personal style, or a familiar design or piece of architecture or posture or expression, I recognized these as signs of human connection, creativity and potential. It is through my attraction to these elements on the margins or in the backgrounds that have led me to learn more about the human violence, cruelties and suffering; to understand its material impacts on individual, local levels and its originations in global and historical contingencies. In looking beyond the violence or disparities and destitution, looking past the differences that polarize and result in cruelties and suffering, the common element of our shared humanity, the most basic denominators of our shared capacity for creativity and agency can come through these little bits. While it is necessary to acknowledge the harms, to truly understand them, these sad photos don't have to be defeatist, nihilistic, vengeance-inducing. Another example comes from a series of photographs I took of Barton Village in Hamilton. They do not romanticize or ignore the negativity that exists in reality and in dominant discourse about this part of Hamilton. Rather, it acknowledges it while still being more (instead of less) positive through a focus on residents' activity and engagement. Photographs have a potential to change the dominant stigma and impressions that focus on difference, negativity, and incompatibility to recognize connections and affinities in order to open up the possibility of deeply acknowledging violence and suffering. They can help identify the global, local, geopolitical, historical economic, social, prejudicial, and also compassionate influences that interconnect human experience. By biasing hope and positivity does not mean to dispense with realities, in fact, allowing oneself to be swept away by seemingly insignificant details can lead to much deeper understanding of those realities. Rather the 'positive' slant nudges towards something to strive for that is better than just barely keeping out of the gutter or grave as it works to support and nourish the human capacity for creative flourishing, agency and morality. Sure, this is an idealistic way of looking at sad photos, but it is important to look to the positive. The alternative is to otherwise always be in a negative zone, closer to endlessly repeating violence, vengeance, despair. Of course, not all encounters with these photographs of suffering and atrocities will prick people the same way, in fact other responses can be wholly opposite to mine. And these photographic bits are not morally directive, but they can lighten an encounter with photographs of violence and suffering, and they can trigger expansive and enriching engagement with those pictures and world in which they exist. I harbour no illusions that photographs, or the accidental & incidental bits in them can end violence (some would even say violence and suffering are natural parts of humanity), but they can suggest the possibility of choosing different paths: human existence does not have to be full on constant violence and suffering.
3 Comments
Jane Pelton
1/12/2015 06:56:27 am
"... biasing hope and positivity does not mean to dispense with realities....." This is my new, favorite quote.......What clear, readable and refreshing essay......I hope to see the exhibition!
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Ilka
1/14/2015 07:02:50 am
Is that your exhibit at Hamilton Art Gallery? I would love to see some of those pictures here on your blog.
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Stephen Park
1/14/2015 03:01:33 pm
I am one of those people who usually notice the "little things"... Although I have never thought about this, especially in relation to photographs vs. other types of images, or gone as deep as you do, Sonya, I found I could easily relate to your essay.
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