Photographing to Remember?
I heard numerous times in photo school students say something along the lines of “I photograph to remember.” I think that is an admirable thing to say, but for me it is probably one of the most difficult things to do.
I have been trying to read some of the accounts at The Photographs Not Taken, and while I have not yet gotten through all of them, the one’s I have read seem to focus on memory (which I guess it the point). Try as I might, I cannot actually get a true sense of the photograph that the person didn’t make. Instead I get an understanding of the moment and the memory. This is not a criticism of the entries or the project at all, but rather an observation and starting point for this blog entry.
I have tried and failed at attempting to photograph for memory. Yes, I have taken family snap shots, and even made some more serious photographic attempts to remember. I have often found that when attempting to photograph to remember the camera or the very act of photographing gets in the way of the first hand experience. What I read that was so interesting at The Photographs Not Taken was a fantastic sense of the moment.
As humans, we seem to have fairly good memories. I can remember in vivid detail very specific moments from my childhood, but I cannot describe it like I would if I was looking at a photograph. My memory seems to sharpen itself when I talk with family and friends about shared memories, suddenly things become clearer. What I am trying to say is, that while photographs can help us remember they are not the same as the memories themselves. And remembering missed photographs is also not the same as a photograph.
Instead of photographing to remember, I try to make photographs that I can learn from. The best portraits I make not only tell me something about the subject but the often tell me even more about myself. I remember when I made these photographs, everything I was thinking about was trying to make an image that would tell me something later. I was not necessarily photographing in the moment, but rather I was photographing looking ahead to how it might make me think when I saw the photograph for the first time. This feeling is probably best explained by the words I say to myself as I make what I believe will be my best photographs. I say, “this is gonna look awesome,” or something along those lines. I don’t say “that, what I just took a picture of, looked awesome as I made the photo.” I am only thinking about how it is going to look later.
I photograph more to learn than to remember. Once I have made and then learned from the photograph, I remember it.
February 8th, 2008 at 10:54 pm
Interesting observation. I may be going a little off topic here but you are seem to be clearly declaring that the act of photographing is something strictly for you. This is an aspect of photography I think is sometimes, for the lack of a better term, negated or under-discussed. Artists like Nan Goldin and Mitch Epstein seem to genuinely use art (photography) as an outlet for not only remembrance, but to deal with personal crisis. On the other hand, photojournalists usually group this need with a greater mission of social justice or an undertaking of personal redemption.
This has always been a major point of contention within the realm of photographic practice. Inside a medium so reliant on “exotic imagery”, be it individually vernacular or otherwise, the role of the photographer as an entity who seeks out those that exist in the periphery areas of a society is inherently problematic. Of course this is more evident in the depiction of subjects who are further away from a conservative or socially accepted lifestyle, it is nonetheless still present in almost all aspects of photographic representation.
To get to my main point here, I think you raise some interesting questions about how we as photographers use the world. I agree that the essays in The Photographs Not Taken rest more within an understanding of the moment and the memory, but I wonder how different these essays would be if it was The Photographs I Shouldn’t Have Taken? Again this may be more relevant towards a war-photographer, but I still ponder the ethics of representation when I look at projects like Matthew Monteith’s Czech Eden, or even, Nicholas Nixon’s People with AIDS. Don’t get me wrong here, I’m not saying in any sense that these projects, specifically Nixon’s, present certain groups in a negative light, I am simply asking what is considered an ethical coverage? What are we as photographers ethically enabled to “remember” for our “awesome” shots?
If there is anything I want to make clear with this comment it is this. I am in no way vilifying Nixon’s or Monteith’s truly sensitive and moving photography, I am simply using these two photographers as jumping off points for a wider (and possibly even more off-topic) questioning of where we go from here in terms of what is ethical photography.
Who knows, I could be talking out my ass here. I tend to do that on a Friday night taking a break from term-paper writing to write.
February 9th, 2008 at 8:54 am
It’s funny, but if you are trying to “photograph to remember” with an SLR, view camera or other camera type that forces you to compose through that camera’s apeture, the moment you capture is actually the one you don’t see, the moment you can’t remember because it is cut off from you by the shutter. And although it is a very short period of time it is one that you did not “participate”in.
February 9th, 2008 at 11:32 am
Noel,
To clarify one thing, I think that photographs provide a wonderful opportunity to help us remember details we might otherwise overlook. The important thing to notice is that Goldin and Epstein seem to photograph their lifeor aspects of it, not necessarily to remember, but as a coping mechanism, or as a way to understand and see more clearly. I’m not sure if this is the same as photographing to remember.
As for your question, what are we as photographers ethically enabled to “remember” for our “awesome” shots? I think this largely depends on the photographer; they have to ask themselves these questions. Also, intentions seem to go a long way. If you want to make good out of other’s difficult situations, it may be more possible. Our culture as a whole seems to accept these photographs. You could argue that we even enjoy seeing them. There is this notion of the classically concerned photojournalist photographing people in crisis to bring attention to them.
February 12th, 2008 at 1:18 am
I have said this, but I think I need to refine the idea. I’m not sure if I photograph to remember, rather I photograph for nostalgia. The idea of actually remembering a moment through a photograph is a tricky one.
There is a short story I read recently that I feel spoke to this issue rather well, here’s a qoute I typed up for my blog:
Italo Calvino – Adventures Of A Photographer – 1955
“… Because once you’ve begun,” he would preach, “there is no reason why you should stop. The line between the reality that is photographed because it seems so beautiful to us and the reality that seems beautiful because it has been photographed is very narrow. If you take a picture of Pierluca because he’s building a sand castle, there is no reason not to take his picture while he’s crying because the sand castle has collapsed, and then while the nurse consoles him by helping him find a sea shell in the sand. The minute you start saying something, ‘Ah, how beautiful! We must photograph it!’ you are already close to the view of the person who thinks that everything that is not photographed is lost, as if it had never existed, and that therefore, in order really to live, you must photograph as much as you can, and to photograph as much as you can you must either live in the most photographable way possible, or else consider photographable every moment of your life. The first course leads to stupidity; the second to madness.”
February 12th, 2008 at 1:28 am
Oh, one thing that I feel is extremely interesting is the camera simply as a tool for memory. I remember distinctly several times in my life where I have either lost a roll of film in a developing mishap or “shot” a roll of non-existant film.
One time, we found an old camera and it indicated it had film in it, but after shooting 24 frames and carefully winding it, we opened it to find it empty. I was surprised that, even now, months later, I can remember vividly almost every moment that we had tried to capture. Normally, my memory is not nearly as good.
The camera is, to an extent, a tool for separating the moments we let wash over us from ones we decide should be reproduced and shared. Even if we don’t end up saving them, the decision that we make seems to trigger something that enhances memory.
February 12th, 2008 at 1:41 am
Ian, thanks for the wonderful comments.
I totally agree that the act of photographing allows us to remember that act and the photograph extremely well.
I was merely pointing out that I do not use memory as the impetus to make photographs. I photograph for very different reasons.
I like the idea of photographing for nostalgia, that sounds like the right word to use.
February 26th, 2008 at 1:52 pm
[...] Most color photographs from decades ago have faded to a form that does not resemble the original color palate. These photographs still resemble their original form, but they are also clearly not the same. Old photograph tend to evoke a sense of memory or nostalgia, and it seems that people relate faded color to such a feeling. Photographs spawn memories from either their subject matter, the moment that was photographed, or the act of creating the photograph. You can read some different thoughts about photographing to remember here. [...]