To See Apr 10/Apr 14
Who is seer and who is seen?
The idea of a resting state of objectivity was shattered in my mind, and I was introduced to the intriguing oppositional idea of a universal cloak of subjectivity that partnered any act of perception. This idea repeated itself in various contexts, in film studies, in sociology, in political philosophy, and cultural studies. In each of its contexts, subjectivity itself gained gradation, and the act of seeing got irreparably skewed.
Years later, I remain in question of the act of seeing. This is my attempt, hopefully successful, to finding a plus ou moins definitive understanding of what it means to see, how we do it, how seeing translates in our minds and what to.
Naturally, for this cause, I have turned to The G.O.A.T., Stuart Hall—to set our base, beyond which I wander off into my own.
We begin through the de facto father of cultural studies, Stuart Hall, the de facto father of cultural studies, situates culture within the concept of ‘shared meanings,’ in which ideas, thoughts, and feelings are represented through language and the subsequent exchange of meanings. Beyond meaning attached to absolutely anything at all, there is the additional filter of representation; “we give things meaning by how we represent them.”
When seen in Spanish, rojo still means red. The Catalan vermell is red. The Basque gorri, red.
Although represented by different words in different languages, when we look at the color red, what we see and perceive is the same color (surely science would argue that all of us view the color differently, but I will choose to ignore that in this moment). The color is represented by different words in different languages, and yet each word in each language is also represented in the same color. There exists the common cultural understanding of what red is, which then further, when approaching its nuances, may diverge towards different meanings—where it is important to remember that Hall says,
Fiona Apple performing Red Red Red live in Paris (2006)
Pedro Almodovar’s use of the color red is completely different to Stanley Kubrick’s, which is totally different to Wong Kar Wai’s. And yet each distinct purpose for using red lingers around the idea of intensity, whether of feelings, desire, obsession or darkness. What is common across their colossally different films is the expectation of what the color is meant to evoke in audiences of entirely different cultural contexts, across genres, and even meanings.
The complexity of an image over something as simple as a color—which still can be represented in many different ways to convey different meanings— is the issue of framing. Framing lies within what is chosen to be included and what excluded; a preemptive, primary process of editing that begins before an additional or external editorial process.
With as much as can fit inside this rectangle,
what does the seer choose to put inside it?
1. Photographing a friend’s supper club tonight, I realized, more evidently than ever, that I’m not comfortable photographing strangers. Objects, strange or not, absolutely; in fact, I certainly prefer photographing objects. I enjoy most the photography of nothing, vague frames of my own invention. Though with the diners’ consent, prior forewarning of the might and occasional appearance of my tiny camera’s big flash, and constant announcements of anticipation for the flash, I could not feel okay that I was disrupting these people’s dinner. As discussed in Looking Outward, one must simply represent with confidence to represent successfully. I doubt I possessed that confidence I spoke of. I simply couldn’t trouve it within myself. All this to say that the photography of subjects is not for me; it is not an activity I can personally solicit. Until I learn a way to feel okay with the representation of others, my rectangle will border objects alone and landscapes of nothing.
Photos from my first day at work
Further, Varda admirably and humorously makes herself a site of subjection.
3. At work, I read one of their publications, where they called their subjects the ethnographers rather than calling themselves that. A very interesting thing.
There are many ways of seeing, showing, saying, presenting, representing, (re)presenting.
Often, what is chosen to be placed within the confines of our rectangles is just that, re-presentation. Framing is simply reframing something you see. Noticing and presenting humor found in something, or someone, everyday is a deliberate reframing of what that thing, or who that person, is. Here I return to the point that representation is (and should be) carried out with deliberation. Seeing and showing need to be deliberate. Even spontaneous representation can only be spontaneous visually but, not in thought. Even spontaneous thought must be deliberate, carrying intent.
Dancer Anna Halprin, still in motion
Last month, S. J. visited the highly lauded Kochi Biennale and asked me how I feel about bad art. It was easy enough to have answers to that question about a week after, when I too made this visit and sprang from bougie gallery to bougie gallery with my 200 rupee ticket. What I expected would be some mind-blowing experience of artistic consumption could be called ‘good’ at best; in gallery number 1 itself, it became apparent to me why S. J. asked me that question. Surely it is not like we had seen the same art and hated it, because galleries are plentiful in Fort Kochi, and I was only there for a mere day. But, even if so, I believe the syncretized feeling we were left with might’ve had something to do with a larger institutional-level framing; what I found questionable was not so much what was inside each frame but more so what was chosen to be presented within the larger frame of the festival—the curatorial gaze, and edition.
Then, inside and outside the galleries, one could become their own framer and capture a beautiful rectangular view of anything they saw.
One can easily argue that anything within a frame is art, which could as easily be true. But what S. J. might’ve been questioning, what I certainly was, is
What art deserves patronage, attention, ticketed entry? How is the price of this ticket determined, and when, if ever, do the subjects get a cut?
Many well-established magazines, especially those that do seasonal issues, pay their writers a price for their words, anticipating scale and sale. While this is still compensation that goes to someone who is more (often than not) teller than subject, it is a seemingly unintentional testament to a bounty offered by the medium of reproductive media—here, reproductive in the sense of mechanical reproduction.
The practice of photography, returning to the hero of our discussion, feels exploitative, especially monetarily. In an image, along with its aura, especially when of someone, receives observation and adulation so far removed from the person of the subject. Framing, in that sense, detaches life from what it represents. Once something or someone is inside your frame, it becomes yours, they become yours. The chair is no longer a chair, it is a chair you saw as such. You possess, within this photograph, the idea and image and consequently the existence of this chair. Like memento mori, you have first killed then immortalized the chair against its red backdrop for eternity and ever.
Right as I finish typing that, I turn to my left to my dead grandfather dressed in all-white clothes and a black Kangol hat, smiling, forever immortalized and thus enshrined against the backdrop of flowers, framed within wood which has then been draped with an undying pearl garland. His presence lives on in a photograph, probably not of his choosing, allowing us both to look at each other right now. How much is the person in the photograph my grandfather, and how much does he represent my grandfather, an image now long detached from the person he once was. The photo, to me, almost carries a new person in whom we have inscribed and inscripted whatever meaning people project onto those who only live on in memory. More idea of a man than man.
Unlike the color red, here is a different kind of representation, chosen by one person enforcing the rest to remember him this way. Then, for each person looking at this photograph, feelings towards this person, feelings towards this person at the time this photo was taken, come into play, creating divergences from a shared meaning.
As I close on writing this, my questioning of the act of seeing remains as open as ever, only perhaps with sharper avenues through which to approach my questions.