There’s no assured essence of ‘literature’ or ‘philosophy’. They’re unstable categories with no guarantees. If they seem secure and natural, it’s because they’re governed by a powerful consensus premised on foundational thinking. (Collins and Mayblin in Introducing Derrida)
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Returning from the quite windy Fountain Square Art Festival in Evanston, IL, I find myself thinking about the funny questions people ask or comments they make. I also compare the questions and comments I hear with other photographers and find I am not unique in either the type or frequency of these questions or comments. Here is a brief list of the most common… When art became an academic discipline art became separated from function. When what experts claim as art is housed in a museum, in exclusive galleries, in the homes of the very rich collector, then art ceases to be accessible to people. Art produced behind closed doors catering to a few rather than to all minimizes the ability to experience art. Publishing an image creates a certain vulnerability through the “I” of the signature. Yet, even as the image is signed one is separated from the creative act of making the image in the first place. In effect by acknowledging the “I” in the work one is saying loudly and clearly, “Here it is, my work. I make no excuses, no alibis, I take responsibility for the work you see!” But the work is no longer mine. I have relinquished control of the creative process by claiming creation of a finished work. I have done my job. Even the act of reproducing the image for a limited edition run is a mere technical act of redoing what has already been done and not creating something new. My work is in the creation, my response-ability is to the process of creation. Somewhere deep in the Australian outback the Hawker Hotel can be found serving the likes of bangers and mash, Fosters and warm berry pies. Like a set from a Hollywood movie, the hotel sits comfortably on the main street of a small town, the name of which I cannot recall, providing a rest stop for locals and travelers alike. A Buddhist monk goes to a hot dog stand and says, “Make me one with everything.” He hands the vendor a $20 bill. The hot dog arrives, he eats it and waits for his change. He waits. He waits some more. He waits even more. Finally, out of frustration he asks, “Don’t I get change?” To which the vendor answers, “Change comes from within.” I have seen pictures of unicorns but I have not, nor can I ever see a live unicorn. Does this mean that unicorns are non-existent? In the image in this post a reflection of part of the Chicago skyline is seen in the stainless steel sculpture commonly called “The Bean” by many Chicagoans. There are two questions that arise from this image. First, does the common name “The Bean,” the name ascribed to a sculpture by visitors, one that actually bears the name “Cloud Gate,” represent something other than intended by the artist? Secondly, does the reflection of the buildings to the west reflected against the curves of the stainless steel while I am facing east and seen in the image in mirror view tell the “truth” of the skyline, of Cloud Gate (aka The Bean), or is the image a capture of a distorted fiction that only exists as a flawed reflection of the real? Do the empty chairs suggest absence or potential? Does the setting sun suggest abandonment or potential? Do the chairs represent a promise of comfort and the setting sun a promise of renewal? Can the inanimate ever promise anything? Are the chairs in the image but a poor representation in two-dimensions of the actual chairs photographed extant in four-dimensions? Just who is the author of a photograph? Is the one affixing a signature to an image the same person as the one who earlier created that image? Is the one who earlier signed the image the same as the one who’s signature is on the image being seen by another? |
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