Today in my museum studies class our lecture was about collections and exhibitions of photographs. The discussion after the lecture explored the earliest notions of photography as an artistic medium and not just a technical skill for documentary purposes. We read an article, that I wish I could attribute to a particular person, but suffice it to say, that someone else said that you could give five photographers the same subject, the same equipment, the same external conditions, and the same vantage point (physically speaking) and you end up with five different pictures.
I am an amateur photographer at best, and a resistant one at that [see "Uno"]. Today Limbo sent me a picture of himself that a colleague had taken. He is somewhere along the Tidal Basin in front of the (very early blooming) cherry blossoms. He's holding his new digital camera. I think it's an excellent portrait and I responded with a note of congratulations to the photographer. In fact one of Limbo's favorite photographic subjects is other photographers, so in this case, the lens was turned on him. The image also served to remind me of a thought that I had this morning during class--that is the creative process of developing a photo. Minus the skill of composing a shot, making the necessary technical adjustments (which are mostly automatic at this point--Limbo's new camera even has an auto-refractor to correct your vision so you do not need to wear eyeglasses while you photograph), the most important element is the processing, the development of a negative (source) image. With the expeditious expansion of digital photography, the "darkroom time" has been converted into time in front of a bright screen like this one where a photographer can "photoshop" (selling?/buying?/both?) their images, sometimes manipulating them so far that he/she creates an entirely new image with no reminiscence of the original shot. Sometimes I am terrified of the internet and all this digital imaging and try to rebel against it, (e.g.: removing Limbo's 1960s seafoam green Olivetti typewriter from its case and bringing it into my bedroom or buying a polaroid camera this fall after the company announced they would no longer make instant film) all this technology (or at least the anxiety it produces) isn't as novel as I'd like to suggest. I can imagine how the Daguerrotype slashed through the 19th century's black hood that covered with both protective and obscuring functions. There's a shoebox in my wardrobe and I could poke a hole in it and light a candle and I could make a camera obscura (I can also listen to Nico & The Faction's album Camera Obscura, it could be an appropriate soundtrack). I could experiment with my shoebox and expand the aperture. I think I did something like this once in my moving-wall elementary school. Right now I could also go to digital image library and look up more 19th century photographs of ancient architecture, that is, as long as my hosts don't switch off the internet on their way to bed, assuming this dark room means I am asleep.
[In response to "Uno" here is a "Due"-- My postcard image anxiety can be eased now that I have come around to see and say that my point-and-shoot shots of an architectural landmark speak to my particular moment in the reflection.] My own photographic attempts are humble efforts to find some images which correspond with my experience. I still refuse to sneak prohibited pictures of paintings in museums (the digital libraries are sufficient and actually superior for these purposes) and to take a picture of a statue is to remove from it its distinct dimension...eh although I suppose this argument could also be applied to architecture, so I have found my own contradiction. Yet, especially after seeing Michelangelo's glorious David at the Academia this week, I think he is a prime example that sculptures must be seen in person, and of course their tangibility is incredibly seductive once you stand in their presence. All I wanted to do was feel the veins of his hands. But of course, now he belongs to the whole world (that can afford the price of admission) and so none of us can touch him lest we use him like an eraser.
If by any chance you have made it through this post or if you have just scrolled down to see how much longer it could possibly go on, then you will find the below image. As I wrote this, I was distracted by the imperative accompaniment, that is, what photographic image of mine might dovetail with this text. A bit discouraged at first, and getting tired as the wine buzz from dinner wears off, I suddenly remembered a series of photographs I took from the terrace of the Museo degli Uffizi the week before last. At the time I declared them "my favorite I've taken in Florence" and then I promptly forgot about them until now. From the terrace, you stand in the shadow of the tower of the Palazzo Vecchio, and there is also an excellent view of the Duomo. It was a sunny day and I noticed an iron gate in front of the window that looks in on the museum's small studio for art restoration. This is what I saw in that reflection. I did not enhance or modify this image in any way, and even if I had I don't have the Photoshop software, so it would have been with my computer's self-assertive "iPhoto" adjustments. I'll leave it to you to privilege text over image or image over text. Or, perhaps you can mediate between the two. As for me, maybe I'll take many photographs tomorrow. Point and shoot.
when you are endarkened, you are enlightened, and vice versa. the taking of a picture in the middle is a way of stepping inside the chiaroscuro, and allowing yourself to smile and say here i am, not asking for a place in the sun, but merely your own being-in-the-world.
ReplyDelete