What the Camera Sees (And Shouldn't See)

So far my investigations have focused on things that have been aimed directly at the camera, or that the figure in the photo has a knowledge of the camera that is being posed at them. I decided to stage an investigation that was much more private and perhaps more sinister. In this setting, the camera becomes a voyeur. Or, perhaps voyeur is too passive a word as the camera becomes more like something that exposes – quite literally – the subject.

In fact, 'exposure' becomes quite an interesting term if we take it both in a literal and photographic term. To expose something in photography is to shed light on it – it is an act of 'throwing light' on a subject. Perhaps this is why we believe in the veracity of the photograph: we believe that it brings something to light that was previously kept in the dark. In the very early days of photography, this was perceived to be the 'tabula rasa' of the film: an uncarved block that could only have what was exposed by light impressed on its surface. However, exposure takes on a deeper meaning when the camera makes all acts – including private acts – public. The camera loves to expose as – through angle, frame and lighting – it reflects things back at you in a new light. The camera is not a voyeur, but sometimes a very vicious tattle-tale who only sees things from its own perspective.

In this investigation, I Heart Television, I decided to invert the knowledge of the camera, or the expectation of enactment happening when the still image is viewed, and make it an exposer – an intrusion on an extremely private act. It started with a literal interpretation of a gesture, loving your television, and took it to a level of mania and hysteria.

I'm not saying that the poses or acts weren't staged – obviously they were – but I tried to introduce a mania or erotic impulsivity to it.

Tuning In

Television Love

The set up of these pictures felt very 'Readers Wives': there was something very domestic about the shots and very seedy about the setting adding to the image's uneasiness. Also, the deranged and ominous motivations behind the gesture – clearly driven by eroticism – provide

I found this series became replete when it followed a sequence and had a poignant 'ending':

I Heart Television

Here we can see the mania and the indulgence, as well as the love and entertainment the TV provides, but for me it's the last image that completes it. It feels like a frenzied action driven by an uncontrollable eroticism, which then inevitably ends in shame. The camera exposes this shame and amplifies it. It focuses on the ridiculousness and makes the figure in the picture feel it. It makes the viewer feel uneasy for peeping into this private act. And what is most surprising is that even though the act is sexual, the over-riding question (or perhaps it is underlying) is did the person actually enjoy this act? The pleasure seems to be taken beyond the point of pleasure to sadness and pain.

I think the interesting thing about this experiment is what is it the camera should see, and should it expose what it sees? Do we even have a choice about what is exposed by the camera and what isn't? To the camera, all acts are fair game.

Also, there is a difference between the knowledge of the presence of the camera and a sense of enactment where the figure expects to be viewed, and presenting the viewer with a sense of privacy and a 'forced enactment'. This 'force' presents the viewer with unease, but could also give birth to intrigue.

On Location 1: The Beach

I've recently been interested by the idea of the performance intervention, or how an intervention leaves very little trace after it happens. The intervention is a gesture that has an accidental audience at the time of capture and is usually documented as a still image after the fact. The viewers of the still image are a more considered audience and the intervention is re-enacted when the image is viewed as an encounter between the photograph and the viewer.

Taking advantage of Falmouth's varied scenery (rural, beach etc), I decided to start investigating this sense of intervention, by using elements of the absurd to intrude on the landscape. For my first investigation, I decided to go to the beach on one of the coldest days in January and have an impromptu beach party. The actions were simple – for instance trying to pour a glass of wine or blowing a party blower in front of the camera. Of course, I also dressed in a party hat, frilly shirt and bow tie.

There were two elements to this: firstly, it was the confidence to actually dress up and just 'do' something. Secondly, it was how well I could take these images by myself on location. I decided to use natural light and set the camera to a low ISO setting (200) to try and retain as much natural light as possible. I did plan more actions, such as popping party poppers, but it was so windy, it made it near impossible.

Beach Party Blower

What I love about these images is there are evidently other people on the beach, but they largely try and ignore what is happening. In fact, the 'accidental audience' met the actions with confusion and gave me a wide berth. Their dogs, however, were much more curious. I had many dogs running up to me and barking at me while their owners were very embarrassed and tried to shoo them away from me. This was especially difficult if I would set the timer on the camera, run for a pose and then have a dog running after me. I think people were also very suspicious of me. Some of them watched me to make sure I wasn't doing anything harmful or damaging – I was actually surprised at the level of concern at what appeared to me to be a completely ridiculous action.

Funnily enough, there were also other photographers on the beach who were trying to capture the waves and scenic landscape. I  found it interesting that they made a decision that was contrary to mine: they purposely chose not to have me in their frame because I was ruining their image of a picturesque beach in January. So in this way, there was an interesting photographic dichotomy going on that day. There was me who was deliberately trying to find the ridiculous, the unusual or the abnormal – in fact I was creating it, causing it. And on the other hand, the other photographers had made a decision to cut out this happening. I won't go so far as to say they weren't looking for the extraordinary – scenery in itself, or simply photographing the grey clouds could be considered just that – but they actively chose to move somewhere else on the beach to preserve its illusion of tranquility.

So a question arises here about which of the photographs is more deceitful: mine for constructing a happening to be documented, or theirs for making a choice not to document something that was happening as simultaneously as the beautiful clouds and rolling waves?

Out To Sea

After a while, the fact that I was dressed in a party hat and sunglasses seemed to fade slightly. However, the focus on constructing the image becomes more intense. Because there is an 'end purpose', the achievement of this purpose becomes primary and the performance becomes focused towards that end. Does it matter that the performance is solely for the camera? If the real focus of the performance is to happen when the image is constructed and printed, then no it doesn't. The process of taking images becomes a rehearsal – you take them over and over until you get it right and then instantly the 'right' image becomes the one you present to your audience.

The weather was a constricting factor throughout the shoot. At one point I tried to go into the sea without my shoes on, but my feet went numb, and running backwards and forwards to the camera became a hassle. Also, I was going to do some shots in just trunks, but it didn't happen because the tripod kept blowing over and there was a limited time I could spend that undressed.

I Wished You Were There (But You Weren't)

What has struck me about some of the images, like the first one on this blog and the one pictured above, is that there is a sense of absence. The gaze in 'I Wished You Were There' says "I am having a great time, but only because you can see me now." Which leads to the question, was I actually having a good time when I was on the beach in the first place, or do I just want the viewer to think that? It very much reminds me of Baudrillard's comparison of the hyper-real to the holiday snapshot. When we look back at it, we convince ourselves we were having a good time in the photo because we smile, gesture or pose in such a way. However, it could have just been another boring and ordinary day.

Nonetheless, this puts some kind of emphasis on absence in the still image not of the performer, but actually of the viewer. The expectancy of the figure in the photograph is that he is eventually viewed, that he comes to life once more. I titled this particular photo 'I Wished You Were There (But You Weren't)' partially because I wanted to encapsulate a sense of fun that the audience wants to share, but also slightly to convey a sense of disappointment on behalf of the person in the photograph that he was essentially celebrating alone.

For the first intervention, I think it was a good experiment. It challenged how gutsy I could be and also a lot can be achieved by acting on artistic impulse, in terms of realising in whatever way an idea that's bouncing around in your head. I learned a bit more about where and how my practice could go and would probably return to this set up with a better camera and tripod, with perhaps slightly more stable weather.

I wondered if the gesture of the action in itself was strong enough to attract much of an accidental audience, but it certainly made me contextualise where the still image sat in relation to an action that you were doing right now.

The Ghostly Photograph

The idea of of photographs becomes haunted or ghostly is something that Barthes and Baudrillard both discuss. The photograph has an unholy power to collapse past and present into one moment, and also the power of evocative nostalgia – sometimes the power to bring what is dead back to life.

I started to play with this notion of 'ghosting' by using long shutter speed times in order to capture a momentary impression. The place in which I experimented was in itself a transient space – a room on campus that I stay at overnight. It made me think of other places that we temporarily own, or non-places. For instance, when we go on holiday and stay in a hotel, we often refer to the hotel room as 'my' room, 'my' bed and 'home'. However, it has been a home to many people at one time.

This impermanence is a quality that performance shares: it exists as a brief impression on both the environment and on the mind of the person who witnesses it. I think this ghosting effect very accurately captures this sense of something once being there, but now no longer. In a sense, all of our actions become ghosted and leave the tiniest, momentary impression on the environment.

Falling Into Bed

I found that choosing where you wanted the deepest impression to be left was one of the most important parts of this exercise. For example, the final point – lying on the bed – left the longest exposure, but the motion blur gives the feeling that the person could either be getting up or lying down. As long as the gesture has a cyclical nature, the gesture stars to take on a repetitive power of its own.

Faceless

This particular image, I was shaking my head side to side. I thought it might give the impression of looking around the room, but instead the lasting image is of a faceless, more frantic being. The motion produces a very nervous kinetic energy – it almost buzzes.

The most effective image came from a very subtle impression:

I Woz(n't) (T)Here

The impression is almost unnoticeable at first, but on second glance it is evident the shadow in doorway is a figure. I have showed it to people since who always squint as though they wonder why I am showing them a picture of a room, before they say, "Ohhhh" and realise.

The image for me encapsulates the sense of someone or something having been there and now is there no longer. There is also some question as to what the figure is going through – Loss? Grief? Upset? The transience of the mood is also captured here as a passing moment. I also think it gives a sense of unease about putting context to what is essentially a 'non place'. This room may, over time, be populated by many more people. However, it is now no longer an impersonal, anonymous room you can make your own – it is haunted by this event, by this figure and by their emotion.

I think this making a place out of anonymous rooms and also trying to track the 'impressions' that we as human beings leave on buildings has an interesting angle of transience and perhaps highlights the disappearance of action effectively – that ultimately the world is populated by ghosts who live near-invisible marks on the physical environment.