Post 1. Photography an art, or simply an alternative method of self-preservation?

One of the key and recurring themes in all three texts that I found most intriguing is the notion that photography serves not only as a form of artistic expression, but also as a way to capture, literally, a moment in time, and thus ‘trap’ individuals within an image, allowing them to live eternally. This idea at first perplexed me, yet, human fear of death, and of course, the perturbation of being forgotten in time has crossed generations and cultures throughout history. Our compulsive, and in some cases, almost narcissistic need to preserve our physical form can be documented in the embalming of mummies in ancient Egypt to cross-cultural ties with afterlife preparations in the religion of Buddhism in Tibet. This prompted me to wonder whether we could question the nature of photography as having transcended art to become a tool of self-preservation?

In the opening paragraph of ‘The Ontology of Photographic Image’ Bazin muses the thought ‘if the plastic arts were put under psychoanalysis, the practice of embalming the dead might turn out to be a fundamental factor in their creation.’ The psychological effect of this self-preservation theoretically has the affect of allowing anyone, and everyone with access to a camera to ‘cheat’ death by merely taking a picture. Kracauer touches upon this in ‘Photography’ stating on p49 that ‘photography presents a special continuum,’ one where an individual can remain untouched in a specific moment perpetually.

These ideas radically go beyond photography as a medium of recording, rather to pick away at the core underlying psychological aspects of mortal fear. In theory, to take an image is to not allow nature’s process of decomposition, one that over time will blemish our physical form until we look nothing like the person we once were. This effect of transformation is incredibly perplexing in itself. Looking back on images from the past, it is hard to supress feelings of melancholic disbelief that arise from the juxtaposition of seeing someone in the prime of their youth, and yet knowing that they are dead. Bazin references to this notion on p14 when he writes how ‘the charm of family albums- phantomlike and almost undecipherable, are no longer family portraits, but rather the disturbing presence of lives halted at a set moment.’ The act thus of taking a photo can almost be argued as blasphemy, for it goes against the principles of God and the cycle of life. The native Aboriginals in Australia still believe that to have a photo taken of oneself is to trap the soul within the image, thus prevent ascension into the next life. Then again, one may debate the negative implications of self-preservation and instead focus on its positive, as when Benjamin in ‘A small History of Photography’ cogitates on p510 ‘the immediacy of that long-forgotten moment the future nests so eloquently that we, looking back, may re-discover it.’ There is definitely something unique and transcending about the nature of a photograph over time; the act of taking a photo is instant, yet the implications of the image stretch over the reasoning of time. In the end, perhaps self-preservation can be an art in itself.

This idea in my view, is confirmed when we evaluate Curt and Siodmak’s film ‘Menschen am Sonntag’ [people on Sunday]. The most visually memorable images for me as a viewer were no doubt the classified ‘mundane’ scenes of everyday life. The man sleeping on the park bench, the people watching commotion on the street from their windows and terraces, the children playing in the sea, completely unaware of the camera’s presence. It is true that at one point I imagined if the little blonde girl with her hair in plaits were now an elderly woman, barely able to walk or talk, or most probably dead, yet it wasn’t a daunting imagining, rather I rejoiced in the watching of her as an innocent young child basking in the happiness of a moment spent splashing in the sea. This example of self-preservation wasn’t conducted consciously on her part, which is probably why the fragmented scenes of the film could be taken as black and white stills and be ‘art.’ Bazin writes, ‘photography is embalming but cinema is language,’ yet, in my view, both are merely artistic expressions of time.