February 3, 2009–May 25, 2009The Howard Gilman Gallery
Metropolitan Museum of Art
Metropolitan Museum of Art
Yet another photography exhibition I'd love to see. Being able to see Evans's personal collection of ~9,000 postcards along side his own experiments into the format would be quite the juxtaposition of artistic aims.
Evans strove for an unabashed realism (that could call into question the veracity of the scenes he captured: too staged to be considered real?) in his work. When placed alongside a postcard, we are struck with two different Americas.
It is odd that the MET refers to the picture postcard as representing "a powerful strain of indigenous American realism."
Unknown Artist, Tennesse Coal, Iron & RR Co.'s Steel Mills, Ensley Ala. 1920
This photograph seems to be a far cry from the idea of realism: a verdant pastoral setting with the industrial reality a mere afterthought in the background, hardly imposing itself on the landscape. To call this American realism is perhaps a social critique on what one would stereotypically call the American attitude.
Walker Evans, View of Ossining, New York 1930-31
Walker Evans, View of Ossining, New York 1930-31This is Evans's realism which contrasts sharply with the supposed realism of the American postcard. The postcard is a tool to sell an idea of a place, to try an encapsulate what we want a location to be. Evans images do try to sell us on place, but to a different end. His images are like Madonna's minus the child. They call to us to help them.
The work of Evans almost always posses that Barthesian punctum for me. I truly am wounded when my gaze fixes upon his work. They create a rupture point in which I pour myself out and the image enters me. This visual violence enacted in the distance between the image and myself opens up pathways into which I can explore the rays of light that are the photograph. The punctum is private, but Evans's work couldn't be any more public. The beauty of these tensions enhances the experience of his work.
The postcards are prime examples of Barthseian studium. We understand the images at once. They are uncomplicated and don't ask much, if anything, from our gaze. Any kind of punctum associated with these images would be less of a punctum, and more of an acute symptom of nostalgic reflection on Americana.
Evans turned the postcard on its head with his photojournalist style. I would really like to see the whole exhibition. 9,000 postcards is a lot and making my judgements based off of the handful on the MET's website is perhaps unfair, but I can only work with the visual information that MET chooses to display to those who are unable to make it to the exhibition.
A picture may be worth a thousand words, but you can only fit a fraction of that on a postcard.
The work of Evans almost always posses that Barthesian punctum for me. I truly am wounded when my gaze fixes upon his work. They create a rupture point in which I pour myself out and the image enters me. This visual violence enacted in the distance between the image and myself opens up pathways into which I can explore the rays of light that are the photograph. The punctum is private, but Evans's work couldn't be any more public. The beauty of these tensions enhances the experience of his work.
The postcards are prime examples of Barthseian studium. We understand the images at once. They are uncomplicated and don't ask much, if anything, from our gaze. Any kind of punctum associated with these images would be less of a punctum, and more of an acute symptom of nostalgic reflection on Americana.
Evans turned the postcard on its head with his photojournalist style. I would really like to see the whole exhibition. 9,000 postcards is a lot and making my judgements based off of the handful on the MET's website is perhaps unfair, but I can only work with the visual information that MET chooses to display to those who are unable to make it to the exhibition.
A picture may be worth a thousand words, but you can only fit a fraction of that on a postcard.
We've come a long way since Baudelaire lamented in his essay The Public and Photography (published in the mid-19C) that photographs were too "in your face" and lacked the "Beau" aspect. In fact, with the juxtaposition of postcards and photographs, we can see that it is not so much the medium, but the intention of the artist that matters.
ReplyDeleteBenjamin went a little further in saying in The Little history of Photography that it was the "aura" created by the necessary distance that was the key to art. I only have the French translation with me now, but grosso modo, he says that photographs usually push the viewer to feel a irresistible desire to look for "le hasard", or that random detail/imperfection. The postcards would have removed all of these, and so will become quite boring.
I think Barthes' notion of "punctum" (I guess you are referring to what he was explaining in detail in La Chambre Claire) can be compared to Benjamin's idea of "le hasard", because it is the punctum that gives the photograph a sense of adventure. Also, I would think that Benjamin's "Aura" is the result of "le travail intellectuel" that Barthes looked for in a photos.
So I fully agree with you that the way postcards are made usually leave no room for finding multiple ways to look at it. Just like pornography, it only has a very limited/restricted purpose. Yes, Evans' work is public, but I think that all great works of art still allow each viewer with good intentions to form a subjective interpretation. In other words, a good work of art is capable becoming personal for each person who sees it.
Thanks for getting my head back into all those theories again!