Hello Everyone, <br>
<br>
I would like to challenge some recurring assumptions in the articles
and discussion regarding snapshots, archives, and albums --
specifically the notions that "it is only the positive aspects life"
that are "typically" documented in personal photography; that these
"present a world with no pain"; and that these depictions are
universally "celebratory." <br>
<br>
The philosopher of mathematics Imre Lakatos introduced the concept of
"monster barring" to characterize a common technique for defending a
theory against problematic counter-examples by dismissing the latter as
"monsters", i.e. as somehow disqualified from fitting the relevant
category or definition (Alison's "family photograph") and, hence, not really admissible as a counter-example. <br>
<br>
The 'monster' I would like to unleash into our tidy discussion is the
post-mortem commemorative photograph. I should divulge that this is my area of
research -- and yes, Judith, Martha is correct: I will want to know more about your stash! <br><br>Post-mortem photographs constitute a paradigm instance of Rodney Carter's criteria of documenting a "momentous life occasion" but otherwise bust up the mould. And while they may mainly seem "creepy" to contemporary viewers, they were common in the 19th century -- and not as hidden away taboo objects but prominently displayed in the parlor (often with elaborate framing and decoration), included in family albums, and even sent as post cards to friends and family. The Notman Photographic Archive contains hundreds of them. Although the post-mortem photograph became uncommon <i>as a publicly displayed</i> photographic practice around the First World War, sociologists, anthropologist, social workers, and therapists attest to the fact that it has continued to the present, probably with equal ubiquity, as a <i>private</i> photographic practice, shown only to a close circle of intimates. <br>
<br>This raises several issues. Much of the discussion so far has tended to generalise completely ahistorically. While there are many photographic practices and tropes that seem very widespread and consistent over time, we should not gloss over important historical changes in the cultural context that affect how different kinds of photographs were received and the complex nexus of cultural and social attitudes and practices into which they entered -- in this case, changing attitudes toward death, including drastic changes in the acceptability of talking about death and in the private/public nature of institutions dealing with illness and death (sick bed/hospital, home/funeral parlor). These changes have affected the extent to which these photographs are discussed and shown (acknowledged) but not necessarily the extent to which they are made -- in fact, I hazard to guess that, with discrete digital cameras and cellphones, even more post-mortem photographs are made now than ever before. <br>
<br>Given this, our notion of personal photography, family photograph, and archive, needs to include such a practice. So, for instance, perhaps "commemorative" would be a broader, more neutral and useful term than "celebratory" for discussing family photographs. <br>
<br>This brings me to Michael's point about the "encounter". This is crucial I think -- yes, it applies! And I'm glad he mentioned Derrida's reading of Barthes's punctum: Derrida's point (sorry) is that it is a mistake to read Barthes as positing the studium and the punctum as two independently subsisting things -- each can only exist as offset by the other, like the contrapuntal structure of a musical composition. Barthes refers to photographs as "laminated objects": just as iconicity and indexicality are laminated together by the photograph, so are the studium and the punctum, presence and absence, preservation and loss, celebration and mourning. What the post-mortem photograph forces us to acknowledge is that we turn to photography for much more than celebrating the positive moments -- we also turn to it in our greatest moments of pain and anguish. Like the studium and punctum, these needs and uses are inseparable -- post-mortem photographs also comfort, affirm, and celebrate and, similarly, the positive, affirming family photographs contain pain and anguish. <br>
<br>What we owe to the photographic object in the archive is to exert our receptive imagination to tease out these complex interminglings -- between the poles of transformation and contextualization is <i>interpretation</i>. In the absence of other "complementing" documents, we need to attend to what the photograph itself can tell us -- and perhaps even <i>more</i> so in the presence of such documents: perhaps it is the photographs that should guide how we interpret <i>them</i>. In the marvelous photograph that Jeremy shows us, is that a First World War uniform the father is wearing? Which regiment? Do format and process and edge trimming of the photograph itself allow us to date it to the war period? A "positive milestone" but also much worry and anxiety. The richness of an entire album, even when anonymous, will usually reveal to the attentive spectator, in the interstices between happy garden parties and graduations, plenty of real loss and regret among the "mythology."<br>
<br>The Collected Visions website attests to this ambivalent complexity in the photographic encounter -- on the part of both makers and spectators. Patrick, "age 20," compiles a small history and ethnography of post-mortem and funerary photography from the archive. He comments on it with great insight and has sensitively recognized a series of jovial group poses as situated at a visitation or wake. The punctum of this collection is the inclusion of a seemingly unrelated photograph of people relaxing on benches on the <font face="arial, helvetica, sans-serif" size="2"> Brooklyn Heights Promenade -- somehow, it fits:</font><br>
<br><a href="http://cvisions.nyu.edu/gallery/essays19/deathvoid.html">http://cvisions.nyu.edu/gallery/essays19/deathvoid.html</a><br><br>Chris responds to a lovely, Christmas-time family photo by noting the absence of a generation and projects himself readily into the anguish of an orphaned son -- yes, a Christmas letter, but one with plenty of evocative substance:<br>
<br><a href="http://cvisions.nyu.edu/gallery/essays19/myfamily.html">http://cvisions.nyu.edu/gallery/essays19/myfamily.html</a><br><br>In the cool, bright-but-diffuse-light of photographic day, my monster is everywhere. Take, for instance, the complex spacial and temporal contextualization (and ongoing re-contextualization) of the concise but poignantly loquacious archive of "celebratory" photographs in a contemporary crypt in Montreal's Notre-Dame Cemetery -- these are milestones that are hard and trip us up and yet do celebrate (so many real things):<br>
<br><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/aurele.parisien/NotreDameCemetery2007?authkey=aVK3r40btJg#5262504688798654402">http://picasaweb.google.com/aurele.parisien/NotreDameCemetery2007?authkey=aVK3r40btJg#5262504688798654402</a><br>
<br>As well as the scope of family photography, I think we need to both enlarge and take more seriously the notions of context -- and, while we're at it, also our notions of who is constantly using photographs in transformative ways. <br>
<br>Aurčle Parisien<br>Doctoral Student<br>Concordia University<br>
<br>
<br>
<br><br><div class="gmail_quote">On Tue, Oct 28, 2008 at 3:04 PM, Judith Colwell <span dir="ltr"><<a href="mailto:ucarchiv@nb.sympatico.ca">ucarchiv@nb.sympatico.ca</a>></span> wrote:<br><blockquote class="gmail_quote" style="border-left: 1px solid rgb(204, 204, 204); margin: 0pt 0pt 0pt 0.8ex; padding-left: 1ex;">
The photos that we have in a church archvies, amid personal papers, are<br>
often taken to back up a report or to put a face on a church -- hence<br>
alumninum souvenir plates and postcards showing the image of the minister<br>
and of the church exterior. In some circles these would be art forms --<br>
after all the engraving on the aluminum or tin took some skill. Then the<br>
question arises asking whether the church was as stern as the minister, or<br>
was the minister pushing an image that he thought the church wanted.<br>
<br>
As to pictures of funerals, etc. -- depends on the geographic area in<br>
question. I have some photos of people laid out in their caskets which<br>
appear to be part of a culture. And I vividly recall, from back in the late<br>
1950's a schoolmate with her album of photos of her mother in casket and the<br>
funeral. Creepy to me, but ....<br>
<font color="#888888"><br>
Judith Colwell<br>
</font><div class="Ih2E3d">----- Original Message -----<br>
From: "Archives" <<a href="mailto:archives@trinity.utoronto.ca">archives@trinity.utoronto.ca</a>><br>
To: <<a href="mailto:Personal_archives@mailman.yale.edu">Personal_archives@mailman.yale.edu</a>><br>
</div><div><div></div><div class="Wj3C7c">Sent: Tuesday, October 28, 2008 3:07 PM<br>
Subject: [Personal_archives] personal archives<br>
<br>
<br>
Hello all,<br>
<br>
Reading the articles I have been struck by the universality of the<br>
'snapshot' experience, how we all know the rules of picture-taking and<br>
viewing. First we know that although the picture captures a real moment,<br>
it is also a projection of an idealized life. Secondly, we know that<br>
much is hidden - hence the sadness that Barthes refers to and which I<br>
would argue goes beyond the realization that the subject may be dead.<br>
<br>
Chambers refers to the feminine character of snapshot taking and album<br>
making, and points out that despite this female perspective there are no<br>
pictures of housework. Taking this one step further, there are also no<br>
pictures of screaming infants, two-year-olds having a tantrum, sullen<br>
teen-agers screaming "I hate you!". There are no pictures of sick-beds<br>
or funerals. The family album or photo collection presents a world<br>
without pain. Since most of us have personal experience with the<br>
phenomenon of family albums, we instinctively do not buy into this, and<br>
realize that the mythology created is unrealistic and to some extent,<br>
banal. Could the family album be seen as the visual equivalent of the<br>
Christmas letter?<br>
<br>
In an archival context, we find the pictures complemented and completed<br>
by other elements in a fonds: a file of condolence cards, doctor's<br>
bills, diaries recording private anguish, letters containing an<br>
outpouring of emotion. And they are certainly useful, as Catherine<br>
points out, for identification purposes.<br>
<br>
Martha asks the fundamental question: "is everyday photographic<br>
experience transferrable to art?" I'd argue that it is and that the<br>
artist has the same mandate as the archivist. The historic photograph on<br>
its own is nearly meaningless, and thus it requires either<br>
transformation (by an artist) or contextualization (by an archivist) to<br>
make it 'real'. It's function during the lifetime of its subjects, and<br>
perhaps for a generation after, is to follow a path that has been<br>
tacitly approved by its viewing public. After that, it's fair game for us!<br>
<br>
Thanks, Catherine, Martha et al. for making this happen.<br>
<br>
Sylvia<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
----- Original Message ----<br>
From: Alison Nordstrom <<a href="mailto:anordstrom@geh.org">anordstrom@geh.org</a>><br>
To: <a href="mailto:Personal_archives@mailman.yale.edu">Personal_archives@mailman.yale.edu</a><br>
Sent: Tuesday, October 28, 2008 9:40:51 AM<br>
Subject: [Personal_archives] (re-sent) first thoughts of the morning<br>
<br>
I'm curious about who's lurking here. I suspect we have archivists,<br>
curators and students who may do any number of things in the future.<br>
Strikes me that we might have very different notions and working<br>
definitions of "family photograph." Can we share?<br>
<br>
I tend to say various things like "a photograph used in the family as a<br>
metaphor for that family, an ideological device that defines family, a<br>
statement both internally directed and externally directed that<br>
manifests an ideal, a record of a family."<br>
<br>
How do these past uses cling to a photograph ( or group of photographs)<br>
as it/they moves away from original use?<br>
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</div></div></blockquote></div><br><br clear="all"><br>-- <br>Aurčle Parisien<br>4868 Hutchison Street<br>Montreal, Quebec<br>H2V 4A3<br><br>Tel . : 514-273-3274<br>Cell: 514-774-6133<br><br>