Photographer

Beautiful Vices

To take photographs is not to take the world for an object, but to make it an object, to exhume its otherness buried beneath its alleged reality, to bring it forth as a strange attractor, and to pin down that strange attraction in an image.

Jean Baudrillard

I take grand pleasure in taking photographs. I enjoy the solitary experience of walking with my camera and cropping out things I find unusual, beautiful or out of place. As if you are violating someone’s private space. It is a very selfish art practice, I would even say narcissistic. You become the intruder and the invader, looking at the world through an objective prism.

In one of the projects titled “O”, on the third year of my Bachelor’s Degree, I‘ve started exploring the notion of identity of an object. I found myself taking pictures of things with no identity. It could have been anything: a plastic cup, a glass bottle of milk or a chair. But the images that would not get deleted were the ones without a tag, a brand or stigma stitched to it. I like the purity such objects resemble. No stamp attached inevitably makes them superior, rises them above the others and opens an endless potential to be anything- more than it is and beyond. Takes it back to becoming one of many.

Here is what Vilem Flusser wrote in his book titled “Towards a philosophy of photography”: “…images come between world and human beings. They are supposed to be maps but they turn into screens: instead of representing the world, they obscure it until human beings’ lives finally become a function of the images they create…”. That is why it is much better to explore the world through the lens as if in our, humans, absence. Objects with no representation imposed on them start being what they were in the first place and become silent, beautiful hence desirable, innocent and virgin.

I went further and started taking students (some I knew briefly, some where absolute strangers) and friends by the hand and bringing them to the studio without an explanation of what is going to happen. The idea was to find out whether the same tendency could be deduced. A human with no identity, is that possible? If yes, would that be desirable?

When participants appeared before the white background everything I requested for was to remain silent for minimum of a half an hour. The reaction varied. Most didn’t know what to do and were very aware of themselves. Suddenly, as few explained to me after the shoot, it became an inward thing – extorted amount of attention on them.  Overall, everybody except one found their experience not enjoyable.

To me each of them reminded a lion trapped in a cage by where the lines of paper roll ended when I was clicking the button whenever I wished and was taking advantage and control over the situation.

Before my eyes a friend of mine became helpless, although she did try to hide it behind the silliness of her smiles and jokes, due to her inability to stay quiet. I did not react to it only observed the progression of transformations she was going through.

After each set I gave a short explanation regarding the scope of this idea and reviewed the experiment. Did I manage to discover their real identities, found them more seductive or did they appear more bland and simpler to me? I do not know. What I do know is that in the studio I only got as far as trying to peel off the first layer of highly protected true self hidden underneath one of abilities to represent oneself- to talk. People are very complicated creatures. Firstly, the imprint of having passed through the mirror stage lays upon us with its heavy weight and later we find ourselves burred underneath multiple covers such as background, nationality, upbringing and etc.

Amongst other vices of our consumer-orientated post-industrial society is an ingrained desire to buy, collect and to own. Again objects are various – from a collection of stamps to yachts.

I am not an exception.

My biggest obsession is a book. No matter how big or small, old or new. The smell, the feel of the paper and the idea of someone writing, designing or even better - owning it gives an authentic pleasure to me. An old photo-book is an absolute ideal. Martin Parr’s “The Photobook: Between the Novel and Film” both volumes is my alphabet. Book is my object of desire.

I write poetry. I want to write poetry. I want to write poetry well.

In my opinion a poem is a rhyme of images put together. Experiences or feeling captured in a tight, fit and rhythmical sentence. The way I approach my personal practice of creative writing is through taking photographs. They grasp my state; convey those emotions that haven’t yet formulated into sentences. A better understanding comes to me through images. I start to watch and listen not just see and hear. What my eyes select to be later transferred on film is not usually understandable at first.

Artistic practice whether it is a drawing, a painting or a piece of writing is a way to be remembered. A book is one straight road to immortality. Just like a catalogue would the final product of an exhibition. It will serve future generations.

Words take time – a lot of time to generate anything satisfactory. “Text do not signify the world; they signify the images they tear up.”  and it is fairly simple: a descriptive text creates a picture, although the text itself was born by a unique ability to imagine. And even though the picture of the writer and the reader could and most probably would differ, nevertheless image is the key. The primary medium either in your head or on the paper.

Photography is poetry to me. A good photograph is silent. There is no need for additional explanation- everything is said. It is symbolic, complete, but indirect. A sign, not a signifier. When a book is a post-production of a photographic retrospective. Right now book is a vanishing point of my picture.

So from photographs to poems and into the books. That is exactly what I urge for.

Here in this essay I decided to admit up to my vices, hoping it would bring me one step forward. Due to confession of my passions I am on the road to a little evolution within me- acceptance of imperfection. God forbid loosing such imperfections as these or even worse - overcoming them.

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