Figure 1. Phil Hill (December, 2019)Image taken of Darcie wearing a hat knitted by her aunt, to say thanks.
As I was preparing for Informing contexts, I wrote an essay on a particular type of vernacular image that I was creating around the Christmas period. It was also useful to start the process of applying my readings and thinking about photography. You can view that version of the essay here.
I decided to re-visit and reflect on this piece of writing now that we are half way through this module and I have a better understanding of some of the concepts and discussions.
It was also useful to revisit during this week’s delivery for ‘A sea of Images,’ taking into account elements of the vernacular, and the ubiquity of images.
Abstract
‘What started as an image taken to say thank you became a question about the continuing proliferation of images and family mythology. Sharing images online transforms the image into a type of currency that seeks to provide validation for both authors and readers, this perpetuates the visual language of established societal norms through placation, morals and covert colonisation as a subtle blackmail. This is a subtle ebb which we are all complicit and must intentionally reconsider and reengage with the way we use images. Where futurity is concerned, it should begin in the unlearning and relearning of visual culture.’
Photo Books, for example. I absolutely adore them and spend
many hours looking at my own small collection. However, I was interested to
listen to Simon Norfolk in a recent Small Voice Podcast (Norfolk, 2019), who said that he himself is done with
them. His reasoning for this is down to the audience of photobooks, which is
almost entirely that of other photographers, and a middle-class demographic of
photographers, which can be problematic for a number of reasons. When you
consider that many of these books have small print runs of around 150, and can
be exceptionally expensive, this can be limiting in the dissemination of the
work; for the socially concerned photographer, what you are actually doing is
creating esoteric works for other people like yourself which does not bring
issues to a wide and diverse audience.
Norfolk’s critique continued, and he also discussed the way
that some of the major awards operate to only reward those that are part of the
same cliques within the traditional photography world and this kind of
self-congratulatory feedback loop will ultimately harm the practice of
photography and its relevance.
Figure 1. Simon Norfolk (2020) Instagram Profile.
Interestingly, Norfolk cited Instagram as the space where
the most current photography is happening and has worked to increase his own audience
to around 150,000 followers (Fig. 1). Norfolk also discussed photographers such
as Joey L as potentially moving the medium forward in this sphere, yet wouldn’t
be considered by the traditional gallery system. Added to this, I also read
recently of the TikTok photographer Derek Harris with a 3.6 million fan base (Harris & TikTok, 2020). These two examples
are not who you might consider as legitimate photographic artists and social
media creates a homogenised view of photography (Fig. 2), yet they draw
audiences that clearly cannot be ignored, and to a great extent show that
photography still has a large audience, albeit a younger demographic than those
who might follow the Photographers Gallery; this could be considered a gateway
into other parts of the photographic world. The rise of these photographers is
surely a reaction by a generation that only consumes media via an online
platform and technologies potentially considering the way we consume imagery
archaic and obsolete.
Figure 2. Insta Repaet (2020) Image from @Insta_Repeat
Norfolk’s comments on Joel L were an interesting one
however, he stated that he did not really like his work, a statement of which I
tend to agree with owing to L’s highly exoticised gaze which is similar to the
discussion around the National Geographic gaze we are looking at this week.
However, Norfolk did have a great deal of respect for his ability to create an
audience, and L’s aesthetics and technical ability can’t be discounted wholly.
When I looked up Joey L’s Instagram however, he was actually using his most
recent posts to promote his own first photobook, ‘We Came from Fire’ (L, 2019). So, even with L’s
large online audience it seems he still places value on the tangible medium,
albeit with a much larger print run no doubt.
Continuing this point, Last week’s reading of Bright’s ‘Of
Mother Nature and Marlboro Men, I was struck by her discussion regarding Lisa
Lewenz’s ‘Three Mile Island Calendar’ (Bright, 1985) which consciously
presented the work using a highly mass produced format playing with the notion
of how these images would normally be viewed – primarily in a corporate report
setting. This kind of presentation has impact over how you might expect to see
a landscape image within its black borders and hung on white walls. To do
something similar in a contemporary form of mass production, which ultimately
would be using an online platform such as Instagram, the context could quickly
drain away (Sontag, 1979, p. 106) as the image gets
swallowed up by the countless others uploaded every second.
Where the photo book may hold more resonance with audiences outside of the photography world might be through publishers such as Hoxton Mini Press who will look for secondary markets for the books that they produce. For example, the book ‘One Day Young’ by Jenny Lewis (Lewis, 2015) is a beautiful series of portraits of mothers and their brand new babies, which was bought for me and my wife when my daughter was just born, and I have also seen it for sale in stores such as Oliver Bonas, creating an opportunity for those unaware of photography in the esoteric sense to access it. However, and I consider my editorial print background here, market forces shape the creation of photography for the masses and ultimately leads to its homogenisation, as broad appeal and aesthetics take the place of challenging work, which was certainly the kind of images that I shot for airline and travel magazines. There are advertisers and increasing market share to think about.
Bibliography
Anonymous & Instagram, 2020. Insta_Repeat Instagram Profile. [Online] Available at: https://www.instagram.com/insta_repeat/ [Accessed 2 March 2020].
Bright, D., 1985. Of Mother Nature and Marlborough
Men. Exposure, 23(1), p. Online.
Harris, D. & TikTok, 2020. derrekharris TikTok Profiles. [Online] Available at: https://www.tiktok.com/@derrek.harris [Accessed 2 March 2020].
Lewis, J., 2015. One Day Young. 1 ed. London:
Hoxton Mini Press.
L, J., 2019. We Came From Fire. 1 ed. New York:
Powerhouse Books.
Norfolk, S., 2019. A Small Voice: Conversations
with Photographers [Interview] (12 June 2019).
Norfolk, S. & Instagram, 2020. SimonNorfolkStudio Instagram Profile. [Online] Available at: https://www.instagram.com/simonnorfolkstudio/ [Accessed 2 March 2020].
Sontag, S., 1979. On Photography. London:
Penguin.
Systemic Structure of Gaze and its Impact on my Practice
Figure 1. Phil Hill & Helen Warrick (March, 2013) opening spread from the March 2013 ‘National Geographic Traveller’ magazine
Many of the texts that we are asked to read have been written pre-Nineties and can be considered in the context of this, however they raise a number of questions of how the dominant male gaze has been established and positioned and should be challenged now. Writers such as Lutz and Collins look at the intersection of gaze (Lutz & Collins, 1991), exampling National Geographic magazine’s problematic approach to representation and gazing at other cultures through the lens if the white European, which was not acknowledged by the publication until the issue of a formal apology 27 years later (Goldberg, 2018). Having created work for the travel spin off National Geographic Traveller (Fig. 1), I question whether I am also guilty of perpetuating a type of colonial gaze with a view of the ‘other’ and the promise of exoticism for a Western audience as the lure of being paid to photograph superseded the awareness for people and culture.
Questions of how we gaze go back even further and overlap questions of representation, with Barthes discussing the view of female novelists in ‘Novels and Children’ (Barthes, 1993, pp. 50-52), which discusses the case of Elle magazine’s introduction of female writes as mothers first and novelists second (1993, p. 50), where their male counterparts are only considered for their literary achievements: “Elle says to women: you are worth just as much as men; and to men: your women will never be anything but women. Man at first seems absent from this double parturition; children and novels alike seem to come by themselves, and to women alone” (1993, p. 51). Barthes wrote this in 1957, which must beg the question of what has realistically changed.
Interestingly for Barthes, there is a predilection to use
male pronouns when referring to the photographer, and the person (or for
Barthes, the artist, the writer), so even when raising the point of female
representation in Elle magazine, Barthes will move on to referring to the next
person as he, him. You might be forgiven in thinking that as these are
translations from Barthes native French language, which is very gendered by its
structure, consisting of masculine and feminine words. However, this in itself
could be considered part of a societal construct that puts maleness on a
pedestal and everything else aspiring to it, albeit harder to break as a
culturally established form of communication.
Barthes is not alone, Walter Benjamin notes: “in principle a work of art has always been reproducible. Man-made artefacts could always be imitated by men” (Benjamin, 1968, p. 218), emphasis on the man-made and men, and although the writing of Benjamin is also a translation from German to English in this instance, this writing will have a fundamental impact of those who read the text. Thankfully, Susan Sontag does not rely on this and primarily refers to ‘the photographer’ (Sontag, 1977, p. 117) in her text, which although is a useful neutrality, the assumption could still be of the male, especially given the dominance of the white male photographer. For Barthes and Benjamin and the contextual sphere of influence that they occupied together with other white male writers, and indeed photographers; the photographer is male.
This perhaps is not the total causal reason for the dominance of the patriarchal gaze, however the impact is in creating the systemic baseline in which we gaze. Man traditionally refers to ‘everything’ and can mean both genders: ‘man-kind,’ ‘man-made,’ as in humans, and made by humans for humans, whereas women are distinct and clearly defined in referring to the female, but not male. Men can be generic in the default sense, no need to be highlighted, they* exist. Women are specific and can be singled out. If we are reading that maleness is the default position then the gaze in which we view the world should be that everything else is adherent to it, and subservient to its wills, whims and desires.
Continually being told that the default position is man is massively undermining, as Hannah Starkey points out “How can you be what you cannot see” (Starkey, 2019) as it is crucial that you can see yourself in the role that you aspire to, and specifically for Starkey if you cannot see yourself in the world then why would you aspire to, so it crucial women see other women occupying these roles. For me, it is easy to see myself in the role of the photographer as many of the photographers that I have viewed, the writers that I read, all look and sound as I do. I have to recognise that my gaze has been learned from consuming these texts and other cultural signifiers, potentially built on this air of authority granted to me by all of the men that have preceded. Through reading and seeing this vision of the male photographer, I have had no reason to question it. Which was the case when I photographed for travel and lifestyle with little consideration for how the people were being viewed; it was exciting to be paid to photograph such places.
Figure 2. Phil Hill (December, 2019) Portraits from ‘Peterborough Curling Club’
Within my current practice I have always felt that the most engaging photographic narratives are most effective when they have people as part of the series (fig. 2). I am intrigued by them, I want to gaze at them, which makes me a voyeur. I photograph the things that I am unable to engage with normally and use my camera as a way of entering into these spaces that I would never usually go, in the same way Sontag writes of the camera being the passport that removes any inhibitions (Sontag, 1977, p. 4), I use it to train my gaze onto what intrigues me. I find that photographing strangers is one of the most difficult things to do, yet I am compelled to do it as I am aware that these almost always are the strength of the narrative (Fig. 3). The reciprocal gaze of the subject is something that I have aimed to control in the creation of my work and is what drives it. Many of the subjects I photograph look away and off camera, which I have discussed previously that it reduces the confrontation between the subject and the reader, allowing a wider interpretation of the image (see post). However, feedback on this approach has been that maybe I do this too often. Perhaps it is not the confrontation between subject and reader that is confrontational, but it is in the tension between me and the subject that truly reflects my gaze in the images that I create. My aim in my current practice has been to reduce the ‘otherness’ of the subject in the images through a more collaborative approach, in a sense a shared gaze, one of the author and that of the subject.
Figure 3. Phil Hill (February, 2020) Billy Suldisha outside a local barber shop.
Linking back to the example of how male pronouns support the established systems of a learned gaze, I don’t feel I view the world in this way, especially now having more of an awareness of the constructed language that may have impacted on this. However, if I am saying that the people in my work are to make sense of the narrative, then I am objectifying them to a certain extent, even if they are complicit in the creating of my portraits, the reader is not and can create their own reading from a respective gaze. As we have discussed before, no image is neutral, so no gaze can be neutral. When I am gazing, I am comparing myself and a kind of measuring myself against the subject in some way. Not to say that I am considering myself better than, I only want to view the differences in order to better understand them, in an empathetical sense. I hope that my gaze is one of empathy, however I am unsure if I am successful in this hope, which where the importance of a proper dialogue and collaboration is vital to remain aware of how learned behaviour might continue to have an impact.
Footnotes
*
During a draft of this text, I first wrote ‘we’ instead of ‘they.’ ‘We’ referring to men, because I was writing the post as a male, this was my default response to refer in the first person, whether or not this was an error of which person I should have been writing the text in, it is interesting to recognise this learned behaviour. Only after proof reading the text did I realise that I should perhaps use ‘they.’ It is an ingrained response that continues to shape the discussion. Interestingly, in the introduction presentation to week 5, Jesse notes “Man has always looked” (Alexander, 2020) which perhaps is purposefully done to highlight the perspective of the default male position.
Barthes, R., 1993. Mythologies. 1st Vintage
Edition ed. London: Vintage.
Benjamin, W., 1968. Illuminations: Essays and
Reflections. Translation ed. New York: Random House.
Goldberg, S., 2018. For Decades, Our Coverage Was Racist. To Rise Above Our Past, We Must Acknowledge It. [Online] Available at: https://www.nationalgeographic.com/magazine/2018/04/from-the-editor-race-racism-history/ [Accessed 3 February 2019].
Hill, P., 2019. Peterborough Curling Club. [Photographs] (N/A).
Hill, P., 2020. Billy Suldisha outside a local Barber Shop. [Photo] (N/A).
Hill, P. & Warrick, H., 2013. Free Spirit. National
Geographic Traveller, 1 March, pp. 92-93.
Lutz, C. & Collins, J., 1991. The Photograph as
an Intersection of Gazes: The Example of National Geographic. Visual
Anthropology Review, 7(1), pp. 134-149.
Sontag, S., 1977. On Photography. London:
Penguin.
Starkey, H., 2019. A Small Voice: Conversations
With Photographers EP102: Hannah Starkey [Interview] (4 April 2019).
Figure 1. Phil Hill (December, 2019) Dave at Peterborough Curling Club, Ontario, Canada.
Reading the forum this week, I notice that a good number of
the feedback given to the images is informed by a pre-existing understanding of
the work of my peers. I was aware of the previous work of many of my peers
through engaging on the forums and webinars over the last few weeks, plus following
many on social media.
I believe that the task was with the aim of removing this knowledge of the work in order to read the image ‘cold,’ which would be useful to understand how a variety of meaning can be drawn from an image where it may be viewed without the context and the understanding of the author’s intent. This is important as it poses the question of whether the communication of the image’s meaning is understood without the supporting documentation that might accompany a piece of work. Also, worth considering Barthes’ removal of the author, which may distort this reading of images (Barthes, 1977, pp. 142-148).
With this in mind, I decided to test the reading of my current portrait practice but realise that many of my peers have seen much of this work already. With the aim of gaining this ‘cold’ reading, I decided to use a portrait taken within the timeframe of this current module and in a similar style to the work that I have intended to shoot for my work in progress portfolio (Fig. 1), however is unrelated to the look at my local community.*
Authors might not be
that dead after all.
This week, I spent some time looking in detail at Roland Barthes’
essay ‘The Death of the Author’ (1977) with the aim of seeing
how this could apply to my practice. Barthes suggests that the reading of a
work becomes a relationship between the reader of the work and the author, which
has a fundamental impact on how that work is read. The background of the author
could be prioritised over the message of the work. For example, if I am telling
you that my project is about a fractured sense of community, is this being
communicated through my images, or are you as a reader attributing this information
to the work and changing the meaning of what has actually been presented.
The image that I added to the forum is a portrait of Dave, who is a member of the Peterborough Curling club in Ontario, Canada (Fig 1). What information in the image is actually telling us this? And did the reading of the image support this? One of the most immediate signs in my image of Dave is of the Canadian flag sewn onto his hat with the rest of the image fairly monotone by comparison. Red, I find is a very useful colour to use when composing images as it instantly draws the eye to it. Is the flag a dead giveaway that the subject is Canadian, not necessarily. Fashion items regularly use flags as an accessory, and there are a number of clothing companies that utilise the Canadian flag as part of its brand. Personally, I feel that there are a number of factors that link this image as being taken in North America, and Canada specifically. The Colour tone is typical of this part of the world, but potentially I am only aware of this fact having spent a good amount of time in the country; I purposefully chose to move Dave to the panelled background to increase this feel to the image. Dave is wearing a plaid shirt, which is also typical of a person living in Canada, however this too could be circumstantial and coincidental. Lastly, and most telling, is the name badge, which although not part of the plain of focus, you are able to make out the name and ‘Peterborough Curling’ however this too can be confused as someone living in the UK city of Peterborough. My intention that when these are read together, you are reading a portrait of a Canadian male.
Figure 2. Feedback received on my portrait of Dave (Kurowski, et al., 2020).
The feedback more or less confirmed this (Fig. 2). The name badge and outdoor clothing meant that Dave was assumed to be working outdoors, and that the work was a defining characteristic of who Dave is. In fact, this portrait was taken indoors, however the clothing is necessary as this is a curling club where the ice needs to be kept at a low temperature. Dave is also retired and a member of the club for social and active reasons. Joanna spotted the Canadian flag and made the connection that he is indeed Canadian. Apprehension and annoyance was also a reading of the image, which is fairly accurate. Dave allowed me to take his portrait and even moved to the panelled background, however, he was not there to have his photograph taken, and was keen to continue curling, which can be viewed in some of his expression. However, I quite like this tension in the image and it is one of my favourite images from the curling club shoot. Linking to my initial commentary on pre-existent knowledge of the work, Andy’s feedback was interesting in that he does have an awareness of the kind of work that I produce having helped me out on a shoot for the last module where we have spoken at length about both of our practices. I am happy with Andy’s reading of my work but aware that this could come from a position of being more informed than most. I am interested to understand what he meant by the lack of meaning as this is a clear area of development for me.
‘Death of the Author’ is useful in that the communication needs to be strong enough for the work to stand on its own. Barthes’ requires us to consider that a work can be read in a multitude of ways, and the term ‘reader’ does not mean a physical one, but instead a way of placing the work in a space where all possible readings can be extracted (Seymour, 2017, p. 27). This notion is useful in that we can view a work liberated from authors, who might seek to control how a work is consumed (p. 22). The image of Dave was not necessarily ambiguous enough for an oppositional reading to truly test the nature of my dominant reading, the denoted elements tell enough of a narrative of who Dave is, even if this is not completely accurate.
Removing authors as the primary means in which we consume
and read work can be a useful tool of reference to bear in mind how that work
is being read and it puts the focus back on the message and not the messenger –
for example, in the way that we understand a speech of a political figure (Seymour,
2017, p. 43).
I am not sure that I fully support that you can completely
remove authors from the work as they could provide useful understanding of the
intent of that work. It is almost impossible to do so anyway, especially in our
information driven era where everything can be accessed and re-accessed online,
although it could be argued that by virtue of the way images are shared online,
they can lose meaning and easily be recontextualized in the form of memes, for
example. There are a number of reasons where it is useful to understand the context
in which that work was created, which could also include background information
of the author. For example, as a way of breaking established hegemony in
colonial and male gaze. A number of Barthes’ contemporaries such as Raymond
Picard were critical of this approach to Authors, arguing that the historical and
context are crucial to understand the work (Seymour, 2017, p. 24). Stanley Fish also
discussed the importance of context in how we interpret meaning and an important
consideration of this is in the author (p. 57).
It is important to continually assess the spaces left by the author when we look at the work in their absence. It is helpful to view a work with this separation, and a notion discussed by Michel Foucoult in his essay ‘What is an Author’ (Foucoult, 1980). However, Barthes’ himself also notes that the image is used to illustrate written word, we may also need to include some kind of commentary (in the form of words) for it to be fully understood (Barthes, 1977, p. 26). And although text does not necessarily relate to the author, it can be useful for understanding the intent. Therefore, there must be a middle ground in which images should communicate effectively and where the intention can be supported through the dominant reading of the author but not held hostage by it.
Footnotes
*
Although I am now wondering if this is a factor that should really matter. My project idea is looking at the notion of the fractured community, so a portrait of a small community group in Canada that I shot whilst visiting my wife’s family over the Christmas period may support the narrative of never truly fitting into one place.
Bibliography
Barthes, R., 1977. Image, Music, Text. London: Fontana Press.
Foucoult, M., 1980. Language, Counter-Memory, Practice: Selected Essays and Interviews. New Edition ed. New York: Cornell University Press.
Hill, P., 2019. Dave, Peterborough Curling Club, Ontario, Canada. [Photo]
Kurowski, J. et al., 2020. Week 4 Activity: Viewers Make Meaning (Forum), s.l.: Falmouth University.
Seymour, L., 2017. An Analysis of Roland Barthes’s
The Death of the Author. London: Routledge.
