a thousand words or more

a thousand words or more.

the politics of a photography of absence.

© 2006 jeremy rose

 

It is not simply truth that is at stake in a contemporary discussion of photography; the power of the image exists not only in its presence but in its absence. What I mean by absence is not that the photograph itself does not exist but that it does not tell the whole story. Today, we will examine the relationship between the power of the photograph and what is actually present therein. This is grounded in a theory of difference, that of the photograph and of the reality that it stands as mimesis against. It is also situated within a discussion of post-memory, of collective memory, that is applied both by and to images by the viewer. Beyond this, we will talk about some theories of representation and of agency.

Difference is only the beginning. Out of this contentious theory, there is a practical opposition between the photograph, as an object, and that which is photographed, also as an object (or a collection thereof). Separate from the theoretical world, this physical distinction applies and is taken as common sense by the average audience. That being said, understood, and internalized, however, the photograph has an air of truth, of primary mimetic representation, which pervades the collective understanding of the object. In the age of photoshop and digital darkrooms, there still exists an overwhelming belief in the truth factor of an image; while words on a newspaper page are frequently understood simply to be political spin and journalistic overreaching, the glossy colors sprayed on the newsprint give not only credibility but strength to the words that are written underneath.

Now, as philosophers, one and all, you’re all going to tell me that the theory of difference isn’t about the comparison of two unlike objects, it’s about the identification of an object by all of the things that it’s not. Dog is defined as, in part, “not-cat” plus “not-giraffe”, as an example. And you’re right. For anyone who wants more on the traditional application of the theory of difference, it is a fairly large part of Derrida’s complete oeuvre, but I would say that On Grammatology would be a good place to start. We’re not going to talk about traditional applications of the theory today. That’s only the beginning of how an applied theory of difference can apply to a scenario such as this. There are two ways in particular that come to mind – the photograph as differentiating itself from the story that it seeks to accompany and, therefore, represent, and the photograph as differentiating itself from those objects outside the scope of the lens.

From the first perspective, differentiating from the story, the photograph is an exercise in the sign not only standing for the object but replacing the object – either the object, the printed story, or the object, the event that is being described. You could see this as an application of the real being replaced by the imagined, as discussed in Baudrillard’s work, specifically Simulacra and Simulations. What this means, for our purposes, is that the page is divided between the photograph and the story. The photograph gets viewed and the story, read. Simple. What happens next is the curious part of the equation. If it were simply a story, in text form, there would be an understanding created in the reader of what is happening. And that can still happen. Then there is a truth decision made as to the level of honesty conveyed in the article. Often a fairly negative one, based on what the common perception of journalistic writing in the west tends to be. Now, add a picture to that equation. Not only is the story true, but the interpretation is no longer necessary. The story is replaced by the photograph and it is seen as blatantly telling the story in an objective manner, so it can’t lie. Now the story is not the only thing that has been replaced. The picture has supplanted the event and is now replacing it, as a much more true representation than the actual relationship between reader and subject, through the conduit of the text. The picture is the story; the picture is the event.

This relationship between the visual and the assumption of truth is not simply staggering in the age of easy editing and digital imagery; the photograph is inherently a study in absence. The choice made by the photographer to take a picture of a particular scene is a choice not to photograph everything else around. It is also a decision to take the picture at that exact moment, rather than at any other. This vast exclusion, while obvious to the general public, also goes no distance toward eliminating the assumption of verisimilitude in the final product, the photograph.

We’ve now moved on to the question of absence, in and of itself. To understand this type of absence, though, we must first talk about implied objectivity. I’m not going to discuss theories of objectivity and subjectivity. That’s a completely separate topic. It shall suffice to say that there is a common view that objectivity is possible; that is to say, there is a truth that exists and there is a way of seeing that truth, outside the restrictions of personal feelings. In other words, the general public believes that there is truth in the world that we must simply look for and find. The fact that I wouldn’t agree with this existence completely aside, we shall continue from the possibility that an objective reality is possible.

The more troublesome part of the equation is that, while it is fairly common knowledge that we can’t speak objectively about things, since we are humans and have opinions, agendas, et al, a camera is not a human. And I don’t say that facetiously. I actually don’t believe that it’s true, to be perfectly honest, but we’ll start from that perspective. A camera, pure and simple, is a collection of mechanical, electronic, and technological parts – some glass, a little silicon, and often a vast quantity of plastic. But no human inside. To take a picture, you point the device at the object in question, push a button, and pray for the gods of auto-focus to come to your aid. Or something like that, at least. So it must be objective.

As they say, on occasion, no good can come from this.

Photography is about choice, rather than automation. While the procedure of the picture coming into being is frequently a mechanical one, without the need for human action, the impetus behind the taking of the picture is certainly the result of a choice, and choice is exactly what negates the objectivity and, therefore, the truth factor for the other side of the coin, the article that accompanies the picture.

There are two choices, the first being time and the second being place, or perspective, to be more specific. The choice to take a picture now rather than later, or rather than not at all, for that matter, is a vital component in the absence theory that we’re looking at. What is missing from the picture in this instantiation? Yesterday is missing, as is tomorrow. Ten seconds from now isn’t present in the picture. When you look at a photograph on the front page of the paper tonight, will you automatically ask the question, What happened right after this picture was taken?. I doubt it. I know I certainly don’t do it without thinking and this is my research topic. The photograph is taken out of time and, as a result, time is not considered for most of them by the audience.

The other half of that absence is place. What actually makes it into the photograph, at what distance, from what perspective, is absolutely the choice of the photographer, the human in charge. What is missing is the answer to the traditional question of differentiation – everything that is outside of the picture is missing. The technique of framing the shot, much like the technique of framing in the philosophical tradition, is an exercise in exclusion, in absence. This is an active choice, we must keep in mind, not the result of some mechanical procedure.

Why, when the photograph is so obviously the result of a dialectic of choice, is it assumed to be truthful? What does this assumption of reality mean for the relationship between photographer and viewer?

The photographer transcends the limitations of artist, since he is not really creating anything, from the public perspective. He is simply recording truth, presenting an objective reality from a particular angle that cannot be questioned, modified, misunderstood, or even interpreted. It simply speaks for itself from a position of authority.

Well, not really. It doesn’t actually do any of these things. Simply put, the photograph is much like a painting, insofar as it is the result of an infinite quantity of choices. It is just treated like a substitute for actually being in a place, however, and its choices are forgotten in favor of its verisimilitude. For more on this, I recommend On Photography, by Sontag, or even the section on subjectivity in Barthes’ Camera Lucida.

Is a photograph sufficient to create believable journalism in the contemporary era, where skepticism is the default position?

The answer to that one is quite simple. Yes. More now than ever do people demand a photograph to accompany anything. And in demanding it as a collective culture, we elevate it to the point that it cannot lie. We wouldn’t ask the question if we didn’t believe the answer before it came, right? From here, we shall move on.

Out of this discussion of difference, particularly from the semiotic perspective, comes the theory of post-memory or collective memory. First developed as a type of explanation for narratives and mythology, of a sort, the collective nature of memory is certainly applicable to photography, in particular through the similar mass-market response of the assumption of truth. In short, post-memory is the idea that, rather than a true philosophical a priori set of histories that is shared between people, there is a cultural conditioning that has taken place, whereby a group of images and stories is shared throughout the western world.

A starting example is that of Vietnam War journalistic photography. While the vast majority of people have not participated in a jungle warfare scenario, there is a shared visual representation among us of what this was like, created primarily by the published photographs in newspapers of the time, subsequently reprinted in their millions of copies. This collective memory scenario influences the political power of the photograph and is situated not in what it exhibits but what it does not.

Truth is of questionable importance, in a society where the necessary framework for history to exist is that of an image. Put another way, it is feasible for the modern citizen to remember the past that she did not experience. While past cultures were outwardly based on oral tradition, a visual society is necessarily reliant on a collective visual memory or “post memory”. A collective image consciousness must therefore exist.

This collective consciousness is, in part, a creation of modern, 1960s technology. There is a newfound ability with this generation to create, en masse, images, from which may be selected the most powerful, the most memorable, to create an interpretation in each viewer. From one image may be assumed a complete story, which may be, for each individual, a slightly different version of the apparent true mimesis that is portrayed on the paper. This image, however, may provoke a memory of this story that will be stored, will be triggered, in the same manner as any experienced event.

It is conceptually useful to think of this collection as a vast library of photographs and, while this is definitely a contributing factor, it is not the physical gallery of images that is important in the concept; it is, instead, the images that are remembered by the living individuals. The images of the real mix with images of the imagined, through a medium of half conscious memory. The truth behind these interior photographs is less important than their existence. It is in this instant that a cultural shift is apparent. This is not to say that such a shift is only now occurring; it simply offers evidence of its renewed existence. The shift is that of a reality, which may never have been a present-day phenomenon, to that of a hyperreality, the result of a visually motivated society.

To say that reality did not exist is to presuppose a knowledge of a higher order truth that cannot be witnessed or experienced. This knowledge is not the question; moreover it is unanswerable. It cannot reasonably be said that reality has never existed; nor can the opposite be expressed with any certainty. What can be examined, however, is the replacement of a conceptual society that relied on an original experience as the foundation for its truth, by one whose truth is built on an image, whose existence both presupposes and replaces the real.

Unlike any prior generation, the world of the 1960s has a common visual literacy. There is an assumption that “everyone” knows the Vietnam War on a personal level, through pictures, rather than simple words. It is this assumption through which a completely new cultural identity is shaped. Collective images transform the cultural individuality and make it possible for the media to manipulate by playing on a post-memory phenomenon.

The result is a society that cannot be separated from its photography. While the technology is, even at this point in time, decades old, this effect is completely new. The Second World War saw images like never before but it was not until Vietnam that the images were portrayed to create a history of the war for their audience. The social backlash from this collective memory instantiation pales in comparison to its political effect.

This is the realm of what the viewer brings to the photograph, which is not inherent. Of what importance to the power dynamics of a photograph is the collective memory?

Firstly, collective memory, I must clearly state, is a very contentious topic. Not everyone, even in the fairly concentrated domain of photographic representation theory, agrees that it even exists. And nobody agrees on what it is, if it does exist. But we’re going to pretend, for the moment, for this overarching perspective on post-memory, that it is a static thing, that exists, that we agree to define like this – a collection of images that is shared among a culture, often a large sample of the culture, as a result of mass-produced viewing of these pictures, that exist like memories of actual events.

To go beyond this, it is also possible for these theoretical memories to supplant the true memories of events. The power of the photograph is such that actual experience is no match for the vibrancy of a strong image, particularly those of suffering and war – of which most journalistic photography tends to be.

Does this portion of the image carry similar assumptions of truth as those of real memory?

The answer is simply yes. I shall leave it at that and we can return to this issue with questions, after, since I have already spent plenty of time discussing it, for the moment.

In terms of representation theories, there is a clear link between the photograph as representation of its subject and as representation of what is left out, what is absent. Let’s take a look at these questions, as a starting point. Does the power of a photograph lie in its mimesis or in its implication? As a tool for political and social representation, where is its power situated? From the perspective of agency, similar conclusions are addressed. Where does the choice lie, in the photographer or in the viewer? To what extent does culture and experience determine the ability for the viewer to choose the meaning of a photograph? When does viewing become a political act and when can it simply be passive experience?

In conclusion, then, a photograph is not simply worth a thousand words; its power is much more manifest and its truth vastly stronger in the mind of the viewer. Perhaps, then, a photograph is worth a thousand truths, instead.