viz. - consumer culture

Commercial and Cooperative Subjectivities: Does an Independent Lens See Differently?

Laura Thain — Mon, 21 Oct 2013 15:09:05 +0000

"If your pictures aren't good enough, you're not close enough."--Robert Capa, founding member of Magnum. d. 1954, landmine accident

Currently on exhibition at the Harry Ransom Center is a carefully curated selection of Magnum photos, drawing from the organization’s archive housed at the Center. Magnum, an elite professional photographic cooperative, brings together some of the world’s premiere photographers in a collaboration resistant to the commercial demands of photojournalism. This week on viz., we’ll feature the exhibit and explore issues central to visual argumentation and mass media. This post will explore what possibilities arise when photographers become their own producers and distributors—what influence do the conditions of production have on the genre of photojournalism itself?

AUDIENCE Many photojournalists speak of the “poster effect”—a bold, central image and a clean, contrasting background. The “poster effect” assumes a disinterested, distracted audience who must be coaxed into viewing the image amidst a complex matrix of visual competition. Below is an example of the "poster" effect. This image, taken by DC freelance photographer Mannie Garcia, was used by Shepard Fairey (without permission) in the iconic Obama HOPE poster.

Image Credit: The Online Photographer

The Magnum photos arguably make different assumptions about a general audience—at the heart of the organization's ethos is the belief that people are interested in the depiction of human experiences and events. Reading this audience in good faith, a condition which is possible only when we remove photography from its commercialized context, opens up artistic possibilities. Below, Inge Morath plays with the convention of "poster" photography by including a posed photograph alongside a boy cobbling shoes in Iran.

Image Credit: Perceptive Travel

I was struck by how seldom Magnum photographs relied on the conventions of high art to communicate their message. Instead, I observed tactics that subtly drew attention to photography as a medium rather than as an unmediated experience. These compositional techniques showed respect for a mass audience and assumed they wanted more than a photograph that exactly replicated experience. Rather, these photographs meditate on what it means to capture an experience at all.

From Henri Cartier-Bresson's series The Great Leap Foward. Image Credit: Personal Photograph.

COMPOSITION These photographs often resist the “poster effect” and instead include jarring edges, multiple centers of movement, and background that resists its position vis a vis the foreground. Below, Burt Glen plays with photographic convention to depict integration in Little Rock, Arkansas.

Image Credit: Personal Photograph

TECHNIQUE Rather than creating “true-to-life” images, the Magnum photographs are often interested in using the camera lens to see beyond the naked eye. In so doing, they often highlight the limits of both the camera and of visual memory. Below, Erich Hartmann photographs data output of an IBM voice recognition study in an attempt to visualize sound.

Image Credit: Personal Photograph

MEDIATION Unconventional cropping, composition, and photographic technique bring attention to the photograph as a medium, rather than a transparent window into experience. They challenge the idea that photography represents memory and suggest that our cognition, rather, has shifted with the advent of photography. While commercial photojournalism often capitalizes on the relationship between human memory and photography, presenting photography as an artifact of memory an therefore memory available for consumption, the Magnum photos challenge the assumptions underpinning “photorealism” (that is, that a painting of a photograph is as close to the real scene as a painting of the scene itself). By daring to bring attention to the medium of photography itself, the Magnum photos seem to suggest that the photographic has altered our perception of memory, rather than the other way around.

Below, Paul Fusco depicts Robert Kennedy's funeral train by using an unconventional f-stop setting to depict the movement of the train.

Image Credit: Agnostica

THE PERSISTANCE OF THE COMMERCIAL Despite all the ways in which the Magnum photos resist the conventions and assumptions of commercial photojournalism, the commercial persists. Magnum's experiments in the digital acknowledge competitition from new media as a driving inspirational force. And human experience itself cannot, of course, avoid the commercial as a formative part of cultural experience. Magnum photos often play with commercial conventions in order to make subtle statements through the photographic medium itself. For instance, Muhammad Ali's fist here is the real celebrity. Its owner is merely relegated to the background.

Image Credit: Roberta Cucchario

We hope you will enjoy the rest of the week's post on the Ransom Center's exhibition and offer us your own thoughts about the intersections between photography, visual rhetoric, and the digital age.

The opinions expressed herein are solely those of viz. blog, and are not the product of the Harry Ransom Center.

Panem et Circenses: The Hunger Games and Kony2012

David A. Harper — Thu, 29 Mar 2012 03:31:21 +0000

Image Credit: BookDrum.com

I suspect I was one of very few people thinking of the First Earl of Shaftesbury, Anthony Cooper, as I watched The Hunger Games with my family last weekend. In particular, I was recalling how Shaftesbury lamented in 1711 that the English theater had come to resemble the “popular circus or bear-garden.”

It is no wonder we hear such applause resounded on the victories of Almanzor, when the same parties had possibly no later than the day before bestowed their applause as freely on the victorious butcher, the hero of another stage, where amid various frays, bestial and human blood, promiscuous wounds and slaughter, [both sexes] are… pleased spectators, and sometimes not spectators only, but actors in the gladiatorian parts.[1]

I found myself watching The Hunger Games at the urgent behest of my eldest daughter, a staunch tween member of “Team Peeta.” Before the movie, we had made a bargain that I would read the entire Hunger Games series and take her to the film if she would read Golding’s Lord of the Flies. It seemed like a good deal at the time. While The Hunger Games movie didn’t put her in mind of Shaftesbury, she did direct me to the image below:

Image Credit: iFunny.mobi

Like the best jokes, this one works on several levels. Suzanne Collins, author of the Hunger Games series, makes the Roman “bread and circuses” connection explicit in the third novel when Katniss is informed that “in the Capitol, all they’ve known is Panem et Circenses.”[2] Indeed, “Panem” is the name of the fictional nation that uses the annual Hunger Games as a strategy of control. My initial assessment after reading the series was that Shirley Jackson’s famous 1948 short story “The Lottery” had mated with Stephen King’s prescient 1982 sci-fi novel The Running Man and produced dubious offspring. But I left the movie musing that it is somehow too easy to assess The Hunger Games as a commentary on a culture obsessed with cheap, voyeuristic reality TV. In a way the books never could, the movie takes advantage of the social and visual experience of going to the movies to breathe new life into the “bread and circuses” paradigm.

In an article for Huffington Post, Greg Garrett noted that The Hunger Game’s dystopia evokes both 1930’s Depression-era America and the Roman “bread and circuses” tradition. Garrett writes, “So long as we are distracted… we may forget for a moment about our own lives, our own hunger. We may forget that we live in a nation that is less free than it was a decade ago, a nation with fewer societal safety nets, a nation with fewer opportunities for young people.”[3] Well said. But let’s face it; the majority of Americans have never known anything more than metaphorical hunger. Turning our gaze toward our own very real problems is a start, but only a start. To do only that is to become a Panem Capitol dweller who realizes she lacks freedom. Breaking free of the thralldom imposed by our own enticing bread and circuses requires we turn our gaze outward and recognize responsibilities extending beyond the borders of self, town, state, or nation.

The theater where my family viewed The Hunger Games was a trendy one that serves meals during the show. While we waited for our group to be seated, the people in front of us consumed two pitchers of the theater’s own microbrew. Once inside, we were treated to a menu mimicking foods found in the books. No, not squirrel, berries, or any other survival food found in the impoverished districts or the arena. This was high-end Capitol fare, like lamb stew with plumbs and some purple melon wrapped in prosciutto. In typical American fashion, the portions were huge. All told, my family probably spent over $100.00 to sit in stadium seats watching a decadent society watch starving children kill each other for sport.

Image Credit: People.com

That purple prosciutto melon was a tip off to what sets The Hunger Games phenomenon apart. It casts the movie audience in the role of Panem Capitol dwellers watching the games. The effect is emphasized by how rarely the movie shows Capitol citizens reacting to the action in the arena. Instead, we stand in for that audience, watching the carnage directly or through the mediation of the charismatic game show host, Caesar. The outlandish Capitol fashion (think Eighteenth-century meets Lady Gaga) may be meant to distance these people from us, even dehumanize them, but as the movie rolls on we become them.

Shaftesbury recognized that the difference between being a “spectator” or an “actor” is perhaps only one of degree. The Hunger Games has us watch colonial children kill one another while we participate in our own consumer culture of excess. God forbid you were out refilling your eight-dollar popcorn tub and missed Thresh bashing little Clove’s head in against a giant metal cornucopia.

Image Credit: Netroots Foundation

The tricky thing about a movie about bread and circuses is that it can become simply another circus, particularly if the audience remains unaware of their complicity. What are we forgetting – what are we being distracted from – by this particular circus and by the more ubiquitous barrage of media white noise? I couldn’t help but reflect that only about a week prior to the release of The Hunger Games the viral social media campaign “Kony2012” had filled our feeds and prompted anxious articles in The Atlantic,[4] The New York Times,[5] ForiegnPolicy.com,[6] and in other mainstream media outlets. The rapidity with which critiques of Kony2012 surfaced revealed a deep mistrust for new social-media fueled activism, as well hinting at even less savory reasons for lashing out at the video.

For a moment, Kony2012 brought our attention to the plight of child soldiers, real starving children who kill one another. Of particular impact is the moment nine minutes into the film, where the filmmaker attempts to explain Joseph Kony to his own five-year old son. The moment has power precisely because, in order to expose the exploitation of children, the filmmaker exploits his own son. It is uncomfortable, but it is meant to be. When we watch fictional children fight in the Hunger Games arena, however, we are partaking in an entertaining diversion, both within the framework of the fiction that makes us a Capitol citizen, and in our role as real consumers of media. A little more discomfort might be in order.

Shaftesbury wasn’t arguing for the abolishment of the theater in 1711, no more than I am denying the value of entertainment. I study Renaissance and Eighteenth-century literature for most of my day, so for me to take such a stance would be absurd. But I do think we should reflect upon what it means to be identified not with the rebellious underdogs of District 11, but with the effete, privileged citizens of the Capitol who move from one distraction to the next as children kill each other and the temperature rises.

Works Cited

[1] Anthony Ashley Cooper. Characteristics of Men, Manners, Opinions, Times. Edited by Lawrence E. Klein. (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1999), 447.

[2] Suzanne Collins, Mockingjay. (New York: Scholastic, 2010), 223.

[3] Greg Garrett, "The Hunger Games: Why It Matters"

[4] Max Fisher, "The Soft Bigotry of Kony 2012"

[5] Josh Kron and J. David Goodman, "Online, a Distant Conflict Soars to Topic No.1"

[6] Joshua Keating, "Guest Post: Joseph Kony is not in Uganda (and other complicated things)

Dead Malls, Dead Stores - Toward a New American Gothic

ebfrye — Wed, 13 Apr 2011 11:32:36 +0000

Screenshot, "Pep Boys, 2009," Dark Stores, Brian Ulrich

Brian Ulrich's work focuses on the range of our experience with scenes of consumer culture. In one series, aptly titled Retail, Ulrich documents the familiar settings of bustling grocery stores, well-lit mega-chains including Target, and crowded malls. That series is populated with all types of American consumers. However, in a study in contrast, Ulrich has put together a series of photographs of deserted malls, vacant storefronts, and boarded-up restaurants entitled Dark Stores.

Screenshot, "Rolling Acres Mall, 2008," Dark Stores, Brian Ulrich

Recently, I was introduced to the term "ruin porn." To fill you guys in, in case you aren't familiar, I'll draw on a succinct assessment from from Andrew Sullivan's Daily Dish blog for the Atlantic. He cites two helpful definitions, one from John Patrick Leary, who has a lot to say about the visual culture surrounding Detroit: "So much ruin photography and ruin film aestheticizes poverty without inquiring of its origins, dramatizes spaces but never seeks out the people that inhabit and transform them, and romanticizes isolated acts of resistance without acknowledging the massive political and social forces aligned against the real transformation, and not just stubborn survival, of the city."

Screenshot, "Toys R Us 2009," Dark Stores, Brian Ulrich

Sullivan adds to that Rob Horning's comments: "Ruin photos speak to our desperate desire to have our world re-enchanted. We want the banal structures and scenes of our everyday life dignified by the patina of decay, so that we can imagine ourselves as noble, mythic Greeks and Romans to a later age and, more important, so that we can better tolerate the frequently shoddy and trite material culture that consumerism foists on us, see it once again as capable of mystery. [...]We become larger than this life, than these dentist’s offices and deserted boardrooms [...] We will survive it all, we will outlast the mediocrity that made us."

Screenshot, "Klingman's Furniture, 2008" Dark Stores, Brian Ulrich

With those definition of "ruin photos" in mind, I wonder if we can apply the concept to these vacant mall-scapes. Although they aren't arguably "ruined," to use the word traditionally, they are still stripped of their original purpose. Because they are no longer shiny and contemporary, as shopping centers are often expected to be, there is the sense that in their failure to attract and contain consumers, they are indeed "ruined." How do we then, as Horning says, see these storefronts and empty escalators as "capable of mystery"? Yes, it's difficult to classify the romance here, though there is a romance and especially sense of the gothic. The eeriness is different, more evocative of Dawn of the Dead than anything else, though there are no zombies knocking out the windows and, for the most part, no bodies here. What's haunting is the absence of bodies and, oddly, the absence of extreme decay.

TOMS' "One Day Without Shoes" - Awareness, Activism, Advertising?

ebfrye — Wed, 06 Apr 2011 02:45:18 +0000

"One Day Without Shoes 2011," TOMS via Youtube

Today TOMS shoes conducted its second annual One Day Without Shoes campaign in which anyone (wherever in the privileged world) was encouraged to go without sandals, boots, sneakers, etc. The intention behind the event is to "raise awareness" for what it's like for the millions in less developed countries who daily go without adequate protection for their feet and, as a result, are at risk for serious infections. At the risk of sounding like a cynical jerk, I'm going to raise some questions about how the campaign attracts an audience through compelling visual tools and ultimately how it benefits those for whom it claims to be raising awareness.

From what I've observed by looking at the TOMS website and performing minimal internet searching, the campaign appears to be quite popular with high school and college kids, many of whom, it can be assumed, already wear TOMS shoes. Like other activist branding campaigns, this one predictably makes use of respectable celebrities. A screenshot from the video above shows that Demi Moore was into taking off her shoes:

Screenshot, "One Day Without Shoes 2011," TOMS via Youtube

So was Kristen Bell:

Screenshot, "One Day Without Shoes 2011," TOMS via Youtube

In addition, the campaign maintains a viable internet presence by encouraging its participants to post videos and photos. Students have been tweeting about the response they've received from administrators and passerby. Curiously, the Twitter feed resembles a composition notebook, perhaps emphasizing that it's acceptable to be distracted from class for such a good cause.

Screenshot, "One Day Without Shoes 2011," TOMS website

Similarly, the information that the site provides about its purposes are limited but they use a visual rhetoric that recalls the educational system but emphasizes that this is an alternative to the usual schooling. Also on the website, above some photographs of children playing without shoes (happily, which is odd given TOMS' message), is this blackboard-style equation:

Screenshot, "One Day Without Shoes 2011," TOMS website

Is this an education in activism? If so, it's also an education in consumerism. Before the big day, would-be participants were edged toward and rewarded for their participation by such videos as this one that feature fashion bloggers, editors of mainstream magazines, and doe-eyed, hipster dream-girls who give advice on "how to get your toes ready" for the big day. See screenshot and accompanying video below:

Screenshot, "Get Your Toes Ready," TOMS via YouTube

"Get Your Toes Ready," TOMS via YouTube

The video demonstrates the pull of the campaign on other corporations and media entities. In addition to the fashion elite, videos and images of employees at AOL, Google, and Microsoft can be found on the TOMS website. Yet, obviously, the brand that benefits most is TOMS. Now, I certainly don't begrudge anyone a pair of shoes, and, full disclosure, I've owned and worn bare a pair of TOMS myself. But I am struck by how by becoming compelled to buy more TOMS shoes, the "students" are also able to participate in an event that expands the experience of a brand beyond what they usually encounter. TOMS has one-upped the Gap's RED campaign by creating an extended moment of bonding with one's peer group.

Screenshot, "One Day Without Shoes 2011," TOMS website

Because the rhetoric of the campaign provides little information for what its participants should do after they become and make others "aware," I'm inclined to say that participants are not encouraged toward a specific kind of activism but a more definitive aesthetic. Alternative education, attractive celebrities, the relief of comfortable, canvas sneakers after a long walk. This is California dreaming at its best...

Medical Art: All That Glitters is Not...Cystic Acne

emcg — Thu, 16 Sep 2010 00:46:11 +0000

Image Credit: Laura Kalman, Cystic Acne, Back (2009)

Via Bioephemera

In a post earlier this week, Cate discusses “Freeze! Revisted,” an art project that literalizes our consumption of violence. In response to the “sensual suicide” of mod-pixie models sucking on gun-shaped popsicles, I offer these blinged-out (and beautiful?) representations of diseased female bodies.

In her series “Blooms, Efflorescence, and Other Dermatological Embellishments,” Lauren Kalman photographs models wearing jewelry arranged to mimic the skin infections, rashes, and sores that manifest underlying medical conditions. With remarkable spareness, Kalman’s images manage to shorthand a number of issues at the intersection of health, beauty, and consumption. The temporariness of the jeweled piercings (specifically, gold acupuncture needles adorned with semi-precious stones) mirrors the fleeting surface visibility of long-dormant diseases like syphilis. At the same time, the relative permanence of these materials underscores our bodily impermanence, a susceptibility to disease and decay that we attempt to “ward off” through consumption of “talismanic commodities” like jewels. As Jessica Palmer of Bioephemera notes, do the images also suggest that there is something “sick” about female consumption and body modification in the service of ideal beauty?

Image Credit: Lauren Kalman, Wart (2009)

Via Bioephemera

For me, the most intriguing aspect of this series is the provocative way it links commercial and medical representations of the “imaged body” (Kalman’s term). By connecting these seemingly disparate classes of images, Kalman calls attention to “the similarities between images that intend to project ideals and those that display subversive or even abject bodies. For example medical imagery, pornography, and advertising display anatomy, often using similar positions and compositions.”

Image Credit: Lauren Kalman, Nevus Comedonicus (2009)

Via Bioephemera

In class, it might be interesting to talk about why the photos are jarring—how do they subvert the binaries of health/disease, nature/culture? But while unsettling, are these images also beautiful? (Or, frisson-style, does their sexiness stem in part from the discomfort they provoke?) If so, is that in part because, while they undercut viewers' expectations, they simultaneously conform to certain conventional representations of (white, young, healthy) women? Kalman’s earlier series “Hard Ware” (2006) transforms jewelry into grotesquerie, as in the mouth encrustation below. Other pieces turn “shameful” bodily fluids (saliva, snot) into cartoonish, expensive-looking adornments. Less explicitly "diseased," these bodies are also less ambiguously repulsive: in "Hard Ware," jewelry takes on a runny or crusty or monstrous bodiliness, while in "Blooms" disease becomes abstracted, idealized.

Image Credit: Lauren Kalman, Lip Adornment (2006)

Via Bioephemera