Credit: Jim Morin, Miami Herald
“Sight Gags” is our weekly nod to the ironic and carnivalesque in a vibrant democratic public culture. We typically will not comment beyond offering an identifying label, leaving the images to “speak” for themselves as much as possible. Of course, we invite you to comment … and to send us images that you think capture the carnival of contemporary democratic public culture.
The World Photography Organization manages the Sony World Photography Awards, which offer parallel competitions for professional photographers and for amateurs. Entry in competitions is free. This year’s deadline for submission is January 4, 2010. Information is available at the website, along with images of last year’s winners and amateur submissions. The winners deserve our attention, but others do as well. Images like this, for example:
Photograph of the department for newborn children, Pripyat’s hospital, Chernobyl alienation Zone, Ukraine, by Sergii Shchelkunov.
The persistence of torture is enough to condemn modern civilization, the human race, and any conception of a just God. Any thinking, feeling human being should be ashamed at what is done, and appalled at the perversion and obscenity and stupidity that it requires, and outraged at those who fabricate lies and evasions to excuse what is always a deliberate act of horror.
It’s pitiful that there is even need to say so, and because discussion of the topic involves facing evil while risking rationalization, good people might be loathe to consider how torture can be exposed, documented, and brought to public attention and so perhaps to justice. The problem is compounded by the irony that so much of the damage done need not be visible. The ratio between harm and evidence of harm may be greater with torture than with any other form of violence, not least because of the cleverness expended in devising techniques for causing pain without leaving physical scars (American citizens might want to to think of waterboarding and sleep deprivation, for example). This is why the images collected by German radiologist Hermann Vogel provide eloquent testimony to the continuing agony and shame.
This is an X-ray of the hand of a victim from Kurdistan; after hanging from his fingers for far too long, the thumb had to be amputated. (“Clearly the work of amateurs,” a seasoned torturer might say.) I find the image to be at once beautiful and heartbreaking. The skeletal whiteness against the black void signifies a deep vulnerability, as we are at once creatures of light and yet so easily ghosted away into the void. The delicately elongated fingers suggest the incredible sensitivity of which a human hand is capable–one can easily imagine these fingers creating gorgeous music at the piano, or making an intricate ornamental pattern on paper, or gently stroking a lover’s face. All that was turned against the poor soul, however, as the same nerves were made to scream for mercy that never came. And so the missing thumb speaks to a terrible absence, not only of itself, but also of the whole hand, and the whole body and self intact, and everything else that also had to be missing–and was–for evil to occur.
As reported by articles in The Guardian, Vogel has been collected X-ray images of torture and other forms of violence for almost thirty years. This work is slowly bearing fruit, including the book A Radiologic Atlas of Abuse, Torture, Terroism, and Afflicted Trauma, and Vogel currently is lobbying the EU to allow X-ray evidence in juridical proceedings such as asylum hearings. Hearings that might offer some solace to the victims, or better yet, have saved someone from this:
The X-ray reveals the permanent deformity produced when the toes of a 14-year-old girl were clamped by revolutionary guards in Iran. She was being punished for wearing make-up. Again, there is something touching about the image because it contains both a damaged body and a suggestion of the beauty that was broken. Perhaps the crooked foot suggests the awkwardness of the teenage years, and certainly the blue and white hue evokes the color of a young woman’s clothes and love of life. (These images obviously work in tandem with our foreknowledge of the victim’s circumstances, but that is hardly unusual.) And again, the part less damaged is still suffused with light, while the brokenness blends into the dark beyond. These images not only provide indexical signs of violence, they capture what is at stake in torture, which is nothing less than a war on all that is beautiful about human life.
It seems that evidence of trauma depends on assumptions about the formal integrity and right proportions of the human body that might be subject to criticism in some academic forums. That indites no one, but it is a reminder that, on the one hand, ethical judgments can depend on aesthetic perception and visual evidence can extend well beyond factual verification, and, on the other hand, that nothing should be taken for granted and there will be reason to develop many other resources in order to press the case against torture. In the meantime, however, one might appreciate the irony that these X-ray images, of all things, can evoke an emotional responsiveness essential to acknowledging the inhumanity of torture. In the final analysis, these photographs may be seen more as art than as evidence, but they could be all the more important for that.
Photographs collected by Hermann Vogel.
The eye can see a great deal, but it rarely sees itself, and never directly. Perhaps that is one reason why photographs such as this one remain somewhat scandalous.
This close-up of an eye exam in Indonesia exposes the eye as an object of sight. We see a soft, wet organ, an aperature that ironically looks camera-like, and coloration that we know isn’t normal. The orange and red could be a sign of disease or only a diagnostic dye, but in any case the organ’s vulnerability is highlighted. The blunt thumb holding up the eyebrow is there to help, but it could just as easily blind the man, whose fragment of a face is tense with the strain of holding his eye unprotected before a bright light. His mute fear becomes even more animal-like when contrasted with the optical instrument in the left foreground. We are seeing an eye, but one that is trapped, first in disease and then in the clinical apparatus. His eye has been made an object of the clinical gaze, which comes from outside the frame.
This staging becomes even more intense in the next photograph.
Once again, we see an eye isolated as an object of clinical manipulation guided by an instrumental gaze signified by medical instruments. All the dramatic values have been enhanced: the eye is more fully decontextualized, with even the face now absent; the instruments now are inside the eye cavity during surgery; the light on the eye is harsher while the eye itself is immobilized (and sure to be harmed if it moves). This is a moment of extreme vulnerability, but if any emotion is to be supplied it has to happen without any cue from the patient, who in fact could be anaesthetised. The emotional vector, if any, will follow another feature common to both images: the presentation of this clinical intervention to a third viewpoint, that of the spectator.
Every photograph can be thought of as being reflexive, that is, as showing not only some part of the world but also the act of seeing. That seeing can be further refined as seeing photographically, and as seeing individually, or publicly, or in many other senses as well. The two images above operate somewhat like popular science writing: they put the viewer alongside a medical intervention as if you could be part of the scene on the basis of your interest rather than actual expertise. Thus, one watches as if an attending physician or as if in an operating theater, but actually from a third position of the public spectator who becomes aligned with the structure of expertise.
It probably is significant that both the expert and public viewers are not visible. The eye being seen is completely subordinated to being an object of sight rather than a perspective on those watching, and one should note that the embodied eye is poor in the first case and blacked out in the second. So, it might seem that these images are not reflexive: the clinical eye is the eye examined, not that of the examiner, and the public is not represented in any form but the photograph itself. But as I’ve tried to suggest, the images can reveal quite a bit about two intertwined ways of seeing.
Photographs by Beawiharta/Reuters,
Credit: John Sherrfius
“Sight Gags” is our weekly nod to the ironic and carnivalesque in a vibrant democratic public culture. We typically will not comment beyond offering an identifying label, leaving the images to “speak” for themselves as much as possible. Of course, we invite you to comment … and to send us images that you think capture the carnival of contemporary democratic public culture.
Reuters and MediaStorm have collaborated on a multimedia history of the current financial crisis. The online project is entitled Times of Crisis. In their own words, “The project has two parts – a short web documentary and an in-depth visual timeline. The latter contains hundreds of entries woven together into a visual stream of information to show how the crisis has touched lives everywhere.”
It’s a savvy project, and the interactive time line is a good example of how photoj0urnalism has become woven deeply into public communication. The images are not the whole story, but they clearly provide resources for thought, association, and action. The project also provides a case study in perspective: if you hang back and look at the thumbnails, you remain disengaged from a radically fragmented world; if you enter the individual panels and move from place to place, you begin to recognize both the many different injuries suffered around the globe and the deep continuities in need, anxiety, and adaptation.
Our language is fettered with visual clichés. “Seeing is believing,” but also “don’t believe everything you see.” And don’t forget that “a picture is worth a thousand words.” Of course, our very favorite visual cliché here at NCN is “No caption needed.” As the title of both our book and blog, some readers often assume that we mean to be arguing that photographs speak for themselves and that captions are truly not necessary. In point of fact, our use of the phrase is meant to be ironic (it would actually be in quotes in the title of our book so as to call attention to it as a cultural saying and thus to set ourselves apart from it, but our publisher insisted that using quotation marks would confuse search engines and make it harder for people to find the book). The irony points in two directions. On one hand we mean to argue that in most instances captions are very much needed, and on the other hand, we mean to argue that whether needed or not, they are virtually unavoidable.
Both points are driven home by a recent NYT Lens showcase titled “Stirring Images, No Names.” The showcase reports on a photographic exhibit about to open in London titled “Beware the Cost of War.” The exhibit consists of violent and often gruesome images from the Israeli-Palestinian conflict taken by both Israeli and Palestinian photographers. And what makes the show unique is that it “lacks captions and credits next to the images.” The point, according to Yoav Galai, the photographer who curated the exhibit, was to “tear [the photographs] away from their narrative” under the assumption that (according to the NYT reporter) “without words, the pictures will be freer to speak for themselves.” The problem, of course, is that a “picture is worth a thousand words” but without some minimal narrative framing to guide and contextualize image for the “hearer,” it may as well be speaking in tongues.
The first image in the exhibit is a case in point.
It is really hard to know what this is a photograph of, let alone to have any sense of what it might mean or say. The person laying in the field appears to be a soldier. That much we can presumably tell from his uniform and gun. But can we be sure? And if he is a soldier who does he represent? Why is he alone? Or is he alone? After all, we cannot see outside of the frame. Perhaps he has friends (or enemies) surrounding him. Is he fighting a battle? Did he dessert his unit? Is he asleep or dead? And how did he come to be in this place? And where is this place? And on and on … There are no doubt a thousand things—or more—that the photograph could be saying. But apart from some narrative it is hard to know what the point might be. Of course, there is nothing wrong with that as art should be evocative in ways that speak to each viewer differently. But even there, no viewer comes to a picture as a blank slate to absorb the pure sense of the image without some baggage—some narrative frame—that directs their attention and guides the understanding.
That leads to my second point, which is that like it or not, captions (and the narrative frames that they impute) are unavoidable, even when a curator decides that he wants to tear the image “away from its narrative.” Look at the above image a second time, now as it is actually displayed in the exhibit and as viewers encounter it for the first time:
The title superimposed over the photograph is, of course, a caption. And it very clearly directs the viewers attention to a specifically normative interpretation of the image. That interpretation, guided by a warning, is reinforced by a prior warning that precedes the photograph to announce that the images in the exhibit are “graphic.” Taken together, the two warnings function as a less than subtle vector for guiding the viewer to “hear” what the image has to say in a very specific voice.
But even if the narrative framing here was not so obvious—and so explicitly verbal—there are a multitude of other ways in which the photograph is more subtly and effectively captioned and framed. For one thing, it is featured in a photographic exhibit in a London gallery, which if nothing else marks it as a special artistic or documentary artifact and guides our engagement with it. Were we to encounter it in a newspaper or on a billboard or in a Soldiers of Fortune magazine the specific meaning of the form of mediation would be different, but the general effect of its form as a mode of captioning and framing would still be palpable. Additionally, the many images in the exhibit (as with the selection reproduced by the Lens) are placed in a spatial and temporal relationship to one another so as to create a flow or montage effect according to which the meaning and force of any individual image is accented and implicated by the images that surround it.
One can withhold credits and specific captions from individual images, to be sure, but to believe that doing so allows the pictures to “speak for themselves” in any pure sense is simply mistaken—more a fantasy than a real possibility. The problem here is not that we might not learn something by valuable by bracketing or withholding the specific captions that name or frame a particular image—and indeed, the power of “Beware the Cost of War” is really quite valuable in this regard as it evocatively underscores the human tragedy of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict … and maybe of all human conflict; rather, the problem is in the risk that we might be fooled into forgetting that photographs are artistic creations—not ideologically neutral or wholly transparent windows on the world—and in that register they never entirely speak for themselves.
Photo Credit: Uriel Sinai
In Western culture and particularly in its visual arts there are strong conventions that place peasant life close to nature, in a realm of slow time that is largely impervious to historical change, and limited to the core functions of human subsistence. Obviously, none of this precludes being the subject of a striking artistic image.
This photograph from Mumbai of a potter’s hand working the wet clay is a stunning composition. The odd yet graceful configuration of the hand, the exceptional tonality of the light on the grey mud, the tension between the immobility signified by the drying mud on his hand and the continuous motion of the spinning artifact–these combine to create a richly textured image. It remains an image of a primitive world, however: we see a human body caked in the primal mud from which it came and to which all return; that hand is engaged in artisanal labor to fashion a simple object (a lamp for a religious festival); and it even hints at affinity with the animal kingdom, as the dried clay looks like elephant hide as the extended finger then becomes a prehensile trunk, sensitive but still confined within brute nature.
I hate to reduce a fine photograph to a finger puppet (even if it is there to be seen). And I could have said more–in fact, I have said more in a post on a similar image (see the second photo in the post) in October 2007. As today, that image was taken during preparations for the Hindi festival of lights. (Primitive life is thought to be cyclical but is more than that; journalism is thought to be continuously new but actually is cyclical.) I’m featuring the current photograph because it is one of several images this week (and a steady stream of such images throughout the year) that feature fragmentary images of hands from the third world.
If you showed an image of a poor old woman today and captioned it “crone,” you would rightly catch hell. But this photo is close to that. We see the old woman’s hand scratching across the dirt for the pistachios, as if to furtively grasp her widow’s mite. She might actually be a person of considerable status and wisdom, as the caption merely said that the nuts had been spilled, but the photograph alone presents a social type, not a person. As above, there is a hint of culture (jewelry, like the pottery, is the basic stuff of museum collections), but this is an image of bare life.
Note the same elements predominate in this image:
Again, a rudimentary sign of culture (the prayer beads) serves to emphasize the dirty hands and rough clothing of someone living in a world of manual labor. The worn nail is particularly harsh–like the first hand, some wearing process pushes the viewer back into nature, into a visceral, painful, inevitable mortality. Religion seems an obvious consolation, and so, once again, a person and his society are denominated as essentially simple, pre-modern, and located within conditions and cultures that are changeless.
All three photographs appeared in slide shows at major newspapers this week. None of them were taken with the intention to demean their subjects. Nor do they, by themselves. But surely one cumulative effect is to further consolidate a cultural geography that places some people in a modern world of continuous change while keeping others in a timeless realm where survival for another year is thought to be enough.
This fragmenting vision is wrong, of course, but more than that, it is a morally flawed pattern of denial. Instead of reproducing images that make poverty seem timeless, there is need to recognize that everyone lives in history. Only then can one fully understand how all are connected in a web of obligation, and why continued suffering is a collective failure, not least by those most capable of being agents of change.
Photographs by Arko Datta/Reuters, Ahmad Gharabli/AFP-Getty Images, Ahmad Masood/Reuters.
Credit: Adam Zyglis, Buffalo News
“Sight Gags” is our weekly nod to the ironic and carnivalesque in a vibrant democratic public culture. We typically will not comment beyond offering an identifying label, leaving the images to “speak” for themselves as much as possible. Of course, we invite you to comment … and to send us images that you think capture the carnival of contemporary democratic public culture.
The website announces “Life on Earth through the eyes of its inhabitants,” but it may be both less and more than that. The Week of Life documentary project invites anyone anywhere to take nine photographs a day for seven days and then post them at this web site. Like this:
Photographs by Frederico Ciamei, designer, Italy for Week of Life, Monday, September 28, 2009.
