Susanne Kriemann

Ashes and Broken Brickwork of a Logical Theory (Roma Publications, 2010)
One Time One Million (Roma Publications, 2009)
RAY (Roma Publications, 2013)

Susanne Kriemann is a German artist whose work is characterised particularly by engagement with the medium of photography within a social-historical and archival context. By using countless photographic prints from different epochs, either made by the artist or collected by her, Kriemann takes on not only a historic and documentary aspect in her work, but at the same time indicates the associated meaning of the archive.
The reach of her investigative gaze includes the history of photography and kindred representations, Germany’s traumatic recent past, the obsolescence of industrialism and the constant metamorphosis of urban culture – all filtered through a relentless process of the medium’s self-questioning.

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Paola Paleari: A clear critic towards positivism and modernism is embedded in your approach. At the same time, you make large use both of photography and of the archive, which are disciplines that were fostered by the same theories that are the aim of your critical discourse. Can you please explain the reasons of this focus in your practice?

Susanne Kriemann: I often focus on existing photographic archives and try to complicate the idea of an archive, since the archive for me is less one of containment than one of affect. For this reason, many of my projects narrate the particular affective relationship between a viewing community and a given archive. For example, my book Ashes and Broken Brickwork of a Logical Theory is visually framed by both Leonard Woolley’s Digging Up the Past (1930) and Agatha Christie’s They Came to Baghdad (1951). Christie was married to Mollowan and was his assistant on many archaeological expeditions, so she wrote and photographed there.
The reference to archaeology is very important in this work. The archaeological act is what forms an archive: it’s the pre-archival impulse. It’s a combination of the narrative of modernity/modernism questioned in Woolley’s work and the archival principles used to organise and distinguish artefacts in museums. The photographs in the book – which are taken by unknown photographers, Agatha Christie and myself – act as counterparts to the various uses/functions of photography as a tool to document, transcribe and quote.

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PP: In One Time One Million, many perspectives are put together: history, ornithology, psychology, architecture and photography. Which role does the archive play when used in a multidiscipline approach? Is it exploited as a formal structure or for its conceptual implications?

SK: One Time One Million uses images coming from two distinct archives: birds photographed by Viktor Hasselblad himself and photographs of airplanes/ houses taken with Viktor Hasselblad’s first camera, the Ross HK 7.
I bought the Ross HK 7 camera together with two unexposed films at an auction in Stockholm in 2006. This “Hasselblad dinosaur” was the starting point of my research, and later became one of the protagonists of the work. In a similar way as the one I adopted in Ashes and Broken Brickwork of a Logical Theory, I chose a very specific approach to the archive, in order to find a few images that could represent the most precise points of reference for my concept.
Perhaps, to answer the second part of the question, it is important to remember that One Time One Million is both a book and an installation, and in the latter case I displayed the forty-six images as offset prints hung in a specially designed panopticum structure. This choice was motivated by the different sources of work files: 6×6 cm slides by Hasselblad, 7×9 cm b/w negatives by unknown pilots, my own aerial photographs shot with the 1948 b/w film, photographs in the ornithological collection of Berlin in 2009: I believe it would have destroyed the conceptual reading of the work, if I would have used all the technical implications of the images and printed each series accordingly. Therefore, when the book One Time One Million was printed, I decided to frame the first print run and it became a piece to be exhibited.

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PP: RAY takes its premises from a radioactive rock discovered in Texas in the late XIX century. You often look for particular situations/collections/stories that you reinterpret and re-enact in your works. What importance do you give to curiosity? Is it more a tool to grasp the audience’s attention or a starting point for your creativity?

SK: This particular rock is part of a looping story, from the use of Gadolinium as a filament for Nernst street lamps that illuminate the AEG pavilion in the 1900 World’s Fair in Paris, to the present use of this mineral in MRI scans. It’s also used in nuclear reactor control rods and smartphone touch screens. The rock was effectively part of the pictures, because I took them with my smartphone. I also made auto-radiographs by exposing films to the rock’s rays.
My goal was to transform the seeming durability of rocks into participating agents in our vertiginous stories and to show how rocks play a central role in our lives and in my work, moving them from background to foreground.

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PP: Questioning the archive means facing concepts such as objet trouvé, détournement, de-contextualization, that that have been playing an important role in art since the Avant-garde movements of the ’20s. What has changed in the use of these solutions after postmodernism and the digital revolution? Why are we still making use of them?

I am not sure I can answer this question…
My own concern with photographs, which were taken, collected and archived by people of different times, is driven by an unquenchable appetite for new constellations of the interpretation of matter: however technology the images were produced with, this informs their political and social impact.
Working with scientific image collections, I am often confronted with terminologies such as geology and anthropology. These big concepts of how parts of the world were composed from a western, strongly male-gaze dominated activity, entangle with problems I am repulsed by and this often urges me to search and re-order them.
I believe that re-contextualizing specific images – or re-making images in precisely composed but substantially different conditions – is vital, at any time.

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Massimiliano Tommaso Rezza

ATEM (Yard Press, 2015)

Massimiliano Tommaso Rezza’s visual research is based on the randomness of the process of making images, the impossibility of selecting them and the research for an instant that would not be Cartier Bresson’s definitive moment, but its opposite.
At the very core of his book ATEM, published by Yard Press, is the theme of “survival”: all those states, people, conditions, events and atmospheres that are ignored or neglected by the standardized and conservative practice of the society of merchandise. ATEM is a pulsing container of images where what is systematically shattered by the idea of “contemporary” is kept alive.
In experiencing the book as a fluent sequence of instants randomly selected and placed one beside the other, the reader is called upon to fill the empty spaces, put together the fragments and look for their meaning depending on her/his personal view.

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The volume does not follow the formal and conceptual balance of an ordered sequence and aesthetic research, and it has been obtained through a purely random process lacking any selection refinement.
In the same way Rezza’s video works search for the fading instant, the meaningless made photograph, all the photos in the book rigorously follow the original numeric order of the photographic source and are presented consecutively, respecting their original format regardless of the book’s page dimensions.

Paola Paleari: In your practice, you often deal with the concepts of everyday life and neutrality. How can one register the informal aspects of life without distorting them?  

Massimiliano Tommaso Rezza: The ghosts of objective representation, honest registration and a straight point of view still haunt photography. As for me, I have never believed in objectivity. In any form of language, such as photography or writing, distortion (if I have understood well your use of the term “distortion”) is not only inevitable, but it is the true character and nature of the camera. Using a language means that the speaker has dealt with its limitation and knows more or less all its pros and cons. This awareness is the prerequisite, other than knowing general syntactic rules of photographs, to speak and therefore also to present/represent an idea. The question is not if there is or is not objectivity/distortion in the photographic language, but rather how to create a work in which the formal aspects present a consistency with the subject surveyed by the author.
In my case, I wanted to focus on everyday life and all those presences that tend to be ignored or neglected by the usual themes of photographic works. I am talking about all those minute occurrences, minimal events in everyday life that could never end up being published because they are considered weak, too humble, insignificant or boring. While doing this, I am aware of the translation from real life into photographic form and all the details and empirical data that may get lost in that translation. As I said before, this loss is part of any linguistic activity.

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PP: Once registered, the empiric phenomena become data, elements of a collection. What is the relationship between the rational logic of archives and the fuzzy logic of existence?

MTR: There is no relationship. An archive is a collection of data that needs to be taxonomically sorted out and offered to the public. Both the public and the taxonomist have to share a common logic so that the use of the archive can be fast, easy, predictable and reliable. Existence/experience, on the other hand, with its mass of contradictions and appearances that are so often incoherent, does not follow any logic. In fact, logic (formal logic and its public/political use) was invented to find a simplification within the flux of existence that could offer us some firm ground upon which we built our certitudes.
Until recently, photography adopted a logical common language to convey ideas, especially because photography was aimed at the general public for educational, moralistic and didactic purposes. Something has changed in the meantime, and today some of us are using the photographic language to present ideas that are more complex, entangled and even cryptic. This complexity somehow mimics the impossibility of reducing reality into linear logic.

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PP: What kind of photographic language can describe the open and never-ending field of observation you survey through your camera?

MTR: I rely on a variety of styles, so that is impossible to feel at ease while looking at the work; I do not shoot photos to represent a subject that can be identified with certainty; I have accumulated a quantity of photos the sum of which is enormous and therefore impossible to handle; my work is not accurate and do not rely on linear storytelling; the work includes incoherent matter, contradictions; I often inverse the run-of-the-mill pairings between certain forms of representation + the type of camera used + the subject portrayed (for example, I use a 35mm camera to take photos that are generally shot with large format cameras; I employ reportage language to portray subjects that are non-political, poetic or inert, and so on: I play with this kind of confusions/inversions).
The whole work is a linguistic game, but thanks to its broken language, it may offer the vision of a world that stands against classification. To answer your question, I think I offer a complex visual cluster that needs decryption from the viewer.

PP: How is it possible to make a liquid matter visible? How can this “anti-archival” type of research be translated into a finite object such as a book?

MTR: Making a book means facing a series of habits and traditional rules; if we had followed them, we would have spoiled the visual matter’s chaotic and liquid nature. That is why I approved the solution Yard Press suggested, which relies first on mechanical order and then on the intervention of accident. The approximately 350 photos included in the book – once put one after the other in a long strip – were shuffled randomly in InDesign just by changing the position of one of the pages. This shuffling rearranged all the photos in an order that was not predictable and expected, and, on top of that, it fragmented and created overlapping of all the photos.
We found this chaotic result very satisfying since it rendered the impossibility of adapting complexity to such a highly connoted object as a book. The result is a book where the viewer is called on to go through the visual matter without any instructions or a recognition process based on habit.

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Tariq Heijboer & Mikel H. Orfanos

Tariq Heijboer and Mikel H. Orfanos (HEYBOER–ORFANOS) are deeply fascinated by publications. Not per se the eventual realisation of a book, but more the obstacles that they’re dealing with during the process – concerning the translation of their thoughts and/or technical capacities. The different methods of archiving, compiling and contrasting their material intertwine perfectly with their concept and translate themselves into printed matter.

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Paola Paleari: Since your interest lies mainly in printed matter, what is your approach to photography?

Tariq Heijboer and Mikel H. Orfanos: Printed matter has always interested us deeply, and we apply it to photographical, textual and graphical material, or to any other visual form. We don’t have a specific approach towards photography, although we can say we prefer to derange the visual content of a photograph to make it ours. In our work, there’s always a slight intervention that changes the actual form and meaning into something new. Sometimes the change relates to the use of specific kinds of paper, the printing method or the way of editing. These interventions might clarify or distort the content of our work(s). It could be a photographic output again… but it could also relate to a textual form. For us, everything’s possible.

PP: Which aspects of the photographic archive interest you more?

MHO: I like to focus on the alteration between text and image. The aspect of the photographic archive that mostly interests me is the additional part – which means, its eventual meaning that can be unveiled or hidden according to the context. What if you replace an image with a text, or a text with an image? Every visual translation (text, photo, graphic elements, etc) can be understood in one way or another. Thus, the most interesting aspect of photographic archiving is to change, rectify or erase any addition to its content.

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PP: The re–enactment and the appropriation of the archive has been playing an important role in the art field since the ‘20s. What are your major references?

TH & MHO: We would like to refer to a passage of the book, Espèces d’Espaces* (“Species of Spaces”) by Georges Perec. The passage explains how to maintain an inventory, by ordering, compiling or structuring any kind of archive. An inventory of everyday’s things… The outcome is an extraordinary list that has been written through a voyeuristic approach.
This form of archiving has also been used in An Anecdoted Topography of Chance by Daniel Spoerri. He started on October 17, 1961 and listed all the objects around and on his kitchen table, while reporting anecdotes linked to all these things during his observation.

* […]
6 candelabra and one Calder–style mobile
5 telephones
1 upright piano with stool
10 adult individuals of the male sex, of whom
1 is having a drink
1 is typing
2 are reading the newspaper, one sitting in an armchair, the other stretched out on a divan
3 are asleep
1 is having a shower
1 is eating toast
1 is coming through the doorway into a room where there is a dog
10 adult individuals of the female sex, of whom
1 is doing her chores
1 is sitting down
1 is holding a baby in her arms
2 are reading, one, sitting down, the newspaper, the other, lying downs, a novel
1 is doing the washing up
1 is having a bath
1 is knitting
1 is eating toast
1 is sleeping
6 young children, 2 of whom are certainly little girls and 2 certainly little boys
2 dogs
2 cats
1 bear on wheels
1 small horse on wheels
1 toy train
1 doll in a pram
6 rats or mice
a fair number of termites (it’s not certain they are termites; the sort of animals in any case that live in floorboard and walls)
at least 38 pictures or framed engravings
1 negro mask
29 lights (over and above the candelabra)
10 beds
1 child cot
3 divans, one of which serves uncomfortably as a bed
4 kitchens or rather kitchenettes
7 rooms with parquet flooring
1 carpet
[…]

PP: Tariq, your book An Alternative Collection makes use of the printed page to put a traditional archive in combination with modern technologies and techniques (Photoshop, Google Image Recognition). What are the motivations behind this project?

TH: This book contains my personal collection of edited and fragmented images of art and design works. For a few years now, I have developed a strong interest in subjective vs. objective reviews. I’m also very interested in the humanistic point of view towards the historic imagery in the era of digital reproductions. Softwares and programs like Adobe Photoshop simplify our possibilities to reproduce and/or alter an image. All the images in this book are edited (rendered, deranged, lifted, smudged, stretched). Is the image still recognisable or readable as something iconic, or does it become representational (a new work of art)?

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PP: One last question for Mikel. In the book Archive, historical material connected to the 1968 uprisings is re–enacted by photographic framing and editing. Which kind of reading of the original archive do you want to create through these subjective actions? A new historical reading, a new meaning or a formal reinterpretation?

MHO: The publication Archive was born as a research to explore one of my main interests, that had to do with the following key-words: “Situationism”, “Psychogeography”, “Riots”, “May(i) ’68” and “Banlieue”.
I decided to find some archival material related to these keywords via a database/archive bank, so I took an appointment with the International Institute of National History in Amsterdam and received a confirmation of the requested books. A huge list of printed matter had been reserved for the following day. I went to the Institute and started with browsing… just browsing. I discovered that it wasn’t the main content that I was searching for, but mainly its imagery. When I say “imagery”, I refer to textual forms, photography and graphic forms, anything that can trigger an interest.
After a certain amount of time spent in collecting material like an archivist, I decided to document it through a big scanner available in the Institute, an old scruffy machine that could copy anything I wanted to put underneath the lens. I decided to include my hands in the scans, as evidence that I held those books and chose those pages. Every time I decided to crop an image or to zoom into an image, my hands would consequently enlarge or shrink, conveying the sense of proportion of the books’ dimensions.
The final result of the research is a compiled publication that includes the translation of the keywords through the imagery. The answer to this question is that I discovered that the imagery and its representation is a form of interest to me. Just the action of documenting material that was already a documentation of events was enough to give me the idea that I was developing something new. I enlarged those images, I chose them, and my hands are the physical evidence of me being present there. The eventual conclusion is that, by printing the photos on A3 sheets, I brought them back on a 1:1 scale. Thus, I did not only represent the documentation of the archive, I also translated its natural scale into printed matter.

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Roland Lüthi, Ursula Sulser & Linda Jensen

Comets in Counter Space
A Diaporama from the Archives of Comet Photo AG

In collaboration with ETH-Bibliothek’s Image Archive, the exhibition venue Counter Space in Zurich presents a three-part, associative image and sound project based on the historical genre of the diaporama.
The three-part diaporama at Counter Space comprises a selection of photographs from the hold­ings of the former Zurich-based photographic agency Comet Photo AG. ETH-Bibliothek acquired the collection in the year 2000, enabling users to access a broader range of image material. Thanks to around 900,000 press images dating from the early 1950s to the 1990s, some of which have been digitised, the archive has received a tremendous boost. Around 27,000 images from these holdings are currently available online, roughly 500 of which are featured in the exhibition.
Roland Lüthi from the Image Archive of ETH-Bibliothek, Zurich-based artist Ursula Sulser and composer Charles Uzor from St. Gallen teamed up with the curators of Counter Space, Angelo Romano and Linda Jensen, to design the exhibition, which comprises three image projections set to music.

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The first projection displays images related to the agency itself: the Comet staff taking, developing, blowing up, filing, arranging, viewing and organising photographs. Tools ranging from photographic equipment and Dictaphones to index cards containing the metadata and views of the archive’s current location at ETH Zurich are also on display. The other two projections feature actual contem­porary documents created by Comet Photo AG in almost half a century: press images and reports from Switzerland, and photographs from trips and holidays abroad, all of which provide an insight into the world as seen and captured by the “Comets,” as the Comet staff dubbed themselves.

Paola Paleari: Why did you decide to re-stage a huge archive as Comet Photo’s one? How did you manage to avoid getting lost in the process?

Linda Jensen: There was a will to situate the archive differently, within an independent art space. To work with the site and its characteristics. The site, a former bank, is now a building being made available for cultural and social uses for a limited time. The former offices have been transformed into an exhibition space that lines one of the busiest streets trafficwise in Switzerland.
The presentation at Counter Space, despite the inevitable subjective handling, also suggests a will to take a distance from a purely artistic interpretation in favour of an attempt to activate historical materials in an alternative way, which Roland and Ursula will detail in a moment.

Roland Lüthi: The idea of the exhibition project emerged during the preparatory work for a book project. In the fall of 2014 the image archive of the ETH- Bibliothek started to systematically select and digitize a considerable amount from a total of 900,000 Comet images, as a starting point for the work on the book. This pool of some 20,000 images then also served as a reservoir for the creation of the exhibition. It can be considered as the “Comet essence” in a 24-minute-long video.
From those 20,000, a selection of about 500 images was made for the three videos. There was never any real danger of getting lost in the process because the amount of images was already limited.

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PP: Why did you adopt a collaborative and multidisciplinary approach? How did you reach an agreement on your different visions?

Roland Lüthi: The diaporama with the Comet images took shape from the outset. The diaporama genre determined the whole following process: we needed both sound and moving images. Basically I was doing the selection process in the archive, Ursula was doing the video and Charles was giving us the music.
The most difficult part was the sound. We tried a lot of different music, voices and sound recordings. We experimented with all three and gradually removed them, until we came to a final version with only two acoustic music tracks. Finally, we got to a very quiet and meditative result. We wanted people to be able to follow their own thoughts and drift away.

PP: Apart for its poetic nature, are there other reasons why you chose the genre of the diaporama instead of the slideshow?  

Ursula Sulser: The genre of the diaporama is able to host a large amount of images, wherein one uses several slideshows simultaneously. In our case, it is in actual fact not a slideshow but a video, which was assembled in FinalCutPro. This process allowed us to create strands of narratives with images fading into each other.

PP: On which criteria did you operate the selection of the images to be displayed?

Roland Lüthi: The selection for the two main videos was rather intuitive. The main guiding line was the avoidance of “iconic” images, meaning the really “good” images that found their way into the print media of their time and also in the recently published book about Comet. Take for example the reportage on the wedding of Audrey Hepburn and Mel Ferrer in Switzerland in 1954. We purposely did not choose the images of the couple coming out from the wedding chapel, but the pictures that show the red carpet on which the couple would later walk on. These are very beautiful but unspectacular images which are able to create small narratives. For the third video we selected “behind the scenes” images of the agency: photographers at work, archivists in the archive etc. It runs separately from the two main videos.

Links to videos
Projection 1 and 2
Projection 3

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Lewis Bush

War Primer 3: Work Primer (self-published, 2015)

War Primer 3: Work Primer by Lewis Bush is a reworking of Adam Broomberg and Oliver Chanarin’s War Primer 2, itself a reworking of the 1998 English edition of Bertolt Brecht’s Kriegsfibel.
In this unique examination of war and photography, Brecht sought to extract the hidden meanings behind images of conflict with short poems modeled on the funerial epigrams of the ancient world. Broomberg and Chanarin in turn updated Brecht’s book by introducing images from the War on Terror, each intended to resonate with Brecht’s original text. While in some respects brilliant, in other ways Broomberg and Chanarin’s followup was also deeply problematic.

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In response to these concerns, and in the spirit of Brecht’s playful invocation not to ‘start with the good old things but the bad new ones’ Bush decided to rework Broomberg and Chanarin’s book into a work primer, a meditation on inequality, labour and capital. By “restructing” the book around the text of his poem A Worker Reads History, and adding new images and text to those added by Broomberg and Chanarin, Bush sought to produce a book which would be a small tribute to the unacknowledged workers, labourers, and slaves who keep the engines of the world turning.

Paola Paleari: You’re a writer and a photographer rather than a photo-based artist. Why did you feel the urge of re-making War Primer 2? Should War Primer 3 be considered more as a creative act or as a statement of claim?

Lewis Bush: Without getting too deep into the backstory behind War Primer 3, which can be read about on my site, I made the book because I wanted to make a point about the way politics is often appropriated in an inconsistent or incompatible way by artists. Politics, of a very particular sort, seems to have become a trendy, saleable commodity for many artists, not something they employ and champion through their work because they believe in it. Indeed to be a political artist today is quite often seen as being rather naive.
In this sense, War Primer 3 is certainly a statement of a sort, hopefully it can also be seen as a creative act. That though is much more down to the individual viewer and it is interesting to hear the reactions of different people to the work. There remain a significant number of people for whom “photography” still means to actually take photographs, and to whom War Primer 3 is not at all creative, but rather plagiaristic. I’m glad to say they seem to be increasingly in the minority, and more and more people seem open to the idea that one can be a creative photographer without ever touching a camera.

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PP: In War Primer 3, the aspect of appropriation, which is often embedded in artistic practices that deal with archival material, is put under examination. What is your point of view on this kind of action?

LB: Appropriation is a problematic practice, and I say that even if I have made extensive use of it. Putting aside the legal aspects, when you engage in appropriation there are all sorts of ethical issues you have to consider about whose work you are appropriating, and what wider good or bad your use of those images might be doing. With War Primer 3 I rationalised the act of appropriation in that I felt the problem of appropriating imagery and using in the book was maybe outweighed by the case the book had to make. I’m sure some would disagree with that, but that is how I rationalised it to myself.
On a rather pedantic side note, I don’t like the term “appropriation” very much, since it is loaded with certain negative connotations. There is a related word in English, “expropriation”, which is where an organisation, usually a government, appropriates private property for the public good, for example during a war or disaster. Without at all suggesting that the end justifies the means, I prefer to think of what I do as a form of expropriation, where the act of taking something over might be problematic, but it is done with the intent of achieving a wider rather than narrow good.

PP: From which sources did you draw the images you used in
War Primer 3? Which criteria did you follow in their selection and editing?

LB: The images in the book come from a very wide range of sources. As in the original two books some are press images, others are produced by campaign groups and non-governmental organisations as part of evidence gathering against exploitative work practices, several are screenshots, others are images taken by citizens and bystanders, and a few indeed are from government institutions like police forces and militaries. Returning again to the idea of appropriation, all of these different image sources present different problems when you appropriate them. In each case you’re weighing up things like the original purpose of the image, the original producer, and your intent for it, and thinking about how these things relate. Things are even more complex because the “owner” of a given image is often far more transparent.
In terms of selection and editing of the images, the selection was defined by the text on each page, text drawn from Brecht’s poem A Worker Reads History. I had this bare skeleton of a narrative from very early on, and then it was just a case of searching for images and themes which resonated with both the texts and the existing images on each page. Sometimes the right image appeared very quickly, other times I would find images which were along the right lines but not quite right, and so I would keep searching and sometimes go through many very similar images searching for one that was just right. In a few cases I had to settle for one which maybe wasn’t perfect or a strong image in itself, but which facilitated the overall effect of the book.

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PP: Both Kriegsfibel by Brecht and War Primer 2 by Broomberg & Chanarin are constructed on the relationship between word and image. As you said, you also retraced this technique by combining new images to one of Brecht’s poems. Why did you take this decision? Do you think the photographic image that is decontextualized always needs some kind of caption to be fully understood?

LB: Rather than retain the original structure of Kriegsfibel as Broomberg and Chanarin had done for War Primer 2, I decided the narrative needed to be changed in order to reflect the change of focus I wanted the book to have. The poems in Brecht’s original book were unambiguously about war, and I wanted to talk about economics. Using one of Brecht’s other poems seemed like a good compromise between achieving what I wanted to achieve with the book while also keeping his voice at the core of it. At the same time, I hope the way text is paired back to just a handful of words also create an interesting balance between image and text, where it is unclear which is dominant, or which one of the two is explaining the other.
In terms of context, photographs always need additional information to be understood, whether that information comes in a caption or in another form. I think we remain so seduced by the photograph, so ready to believe that what we are looking at is some sort of window through space and time to another moment and place. We readily forget that a photograph is just a pattern of dark and light on a piece of paper or a monitor, and that to interpret even the most basic of information in that pattern requires all sorts of existing information which we carry around in our heads, or glean from other sources. The idea that photographs alone speak some universal language or mean the same thing to everyone who looks at them is one of the great delusions of our otherwise very visually literate culture.

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CZECH FUNDAMENTAL

The eternal return. Recurrent patterns in Czech photography of the Twentieth century

If writer Franz Kafka is universally recognized as one of the major references in Czech literature – and culture in general – of the first half of the Twentieth century, the same can be said about novelist Milan Kundera relative to the period that starts with the famous Prague Spring and reaches to the present day. Despite the fact that the latter has lived in exile since 1975, there is a close connection between these two authors, and the influence played by Kafka was acknowledged by Kundera himself (i).
The individual’s anguish, anxiety and fears towards both the outer and inner world, the terror of an absurd bureaucratized universe, the sense of loneliness and inappropriateness are some of Kakfa’s characteristic themes that arose from the specific socio-political conditions of his times and left a permanent mark on the way his compatriots have been looking at existence. Together with Kundera, many postwar Czechoslovakian authors brought these considerations into their works and reinterpreted them through various artistic practices, sewing a fil rouge between the modernist and post-modernist ages that has given shape to a unique coherence in terms of concepts and expressive modes.

Jaromir Funke, Composition (bottle shadows), 1927. Prague House of Photography. Portfolio IV. Print III. Edition 6/30. Collection Marc Rubenstein, NYC.
Jaromir Funke, Composition (bottle shadows), 1927. Prague House of Photography. Portfolio IV. Print III. Edition 6/30. Collection Marc Rubenstein, NYC.

Referring more precisely to photography, some fundamental patterns can be distinguished and found throughout the course of the last century, especially in the works of the avant-garde artists and in the more recent photographic experimentation from the ‘90s. The significance of void and absence is one of these traits, which led to the establishment of a strong trend towards abstraction. The heredity left by Jaromír Funke – who in the ’20s was a pioneer in his attempt of representing the “essence of vision”, using elementary geometric forms as they were the basic building-blocks of the universe – is undoubtedly the starting point of many conceptual compositions of younger generations, where the structure of the material and the light processes are analyzed through a minimalistic experimental approach.

Jiri Sigut, John Cage — Music for Marcel Duchamp, Ostrava-Poruba, 6.10.1987. Gelatin silver bromide print.
Jiri Sigut, John Cage — Music for Marcel Duchamp, Ostrava-Poruba, 6.10.1987. Gelatin silver bromide print.

Alongside the coldness of shadows and shapes, another predominant element that runs parallel like an underground stream is the presence of human body and its intrinsic erotic power. It was an obsession and a cage for Kafka, who in The Metamorphosis (1915) turned the internal rage at his own physical weakness into alienating images of the male body, while Kundera “specialized in that brand of emotionally distanced, often farcical eroticism” (ii) that reached its highest point in The book of laughter and forgetting (1979). The body is an absolute and controversial protagonist in Czech photography since the appearance of the avant-garde movements: in the ‘20s, František Drtikol’s elegant nudes were considered extremely daring for their time, showing the naked body in its original state and natural beauty; Miroslav Tichý’s stolen portraits of women from the ‘60s placed themselves well outside of the artistic mainstream for a long time, while more recently Jan Saudek’s rich and often grotesque scenes were accused of spreading pornography.

Jan Saudek, Suzanne and her children, 1992. Hand-colored gelatin silver print.
Jan Saudek, Suzanne and her children, 1992. Hand-colored gelatin silver print.

In fact, irony is an important component of this game, as well as an inescapable characteristic of many Czech authors, accompanied by the tendency to mock stereotypes and clichés. Although often obscure and enigmatic, Czech soul is also sarcastic and playful, having developed humour in response to a cumbersome bureaucratic system that used to praise conformity and rules above individuality and free-thinking. Václav Chocola’s example is paradigmatic in this sense: a photo-reporter of some reputation of his time, he was arrested by the communist regime and spent one month in prison for his documentation of Jan Palach’s funeral in 1969, but he continued to work, producing unforgettable images. Under very different conditions but adopting a similar approach towards the weirdness of life, Slovak photographer Peter Župník – a member of the 1980s so called “New Wave” generation – unveils the poetry hidden in our world by playing with the unexpected and bizarre side of everyday situations.

Peter Zupnik, The cat that wanted to be a tiger. Hand-colored gelatin silver print.
Peter Zupnik, The cat that wanted to be a tiger

Even if in the present day we are facing an increasing flattening of visual culture due to the hyper-production of images, the Czech photographic spirit tries to survive, as if it was driven by the concept of the “eternal return” described by Kundera in The unbearable lightness of being (1984), where, in an infinite universe, everything is guaranteed to recur endlessly. This perspective surely casts an almost idealistic shade on creative production and on the role of the artist, which is put in the position of assuming the responsibility of the past on his or her shoulders, and at the same time is asked to surrender to the will of fate. Following this vision, we can apply to photography what Moravian author Jan Skácel wrote in 1966 about poetry: Poets don’t invent poems / The poem is somewhere behind / It’s been there for a long long time / The poet merely discovers it.

(i) Cfr. Milan Kundera, The Art of the Novel, Grove Press, New York, 1988
(ii) Harold Bloom, Aaron Tillman, Milan Kundera (Bloom’s Modern Critical Views), Chelsea House Publications, New York, 2003

A conversation with Fabrizio Cicero

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Let’s start from the end, or better from the exit. Why did you choose this title?

I had almost finished the first module you can see in the videos, many possible titles were in my head and “exit” was among them. It’s a word that has always been teasing my imagery, an everyday word that carries deep hints.
The ultimate confirmation came while I was watching Barfly, a 1987 movie with Mickey Rourke acting as an alcoholic character based on Charles Bukowski’s figure. I was appealed by the EXIT sign that persistently appears in the bar where these people, desperate and defeated by life, gather to endlessly drink, never seeing the daylight. It’s like they are stuck in a claustrophobic parallel universe, but, sooner or later, they will be forced to come out and face the reality, somehow.

Also your artworks set up a parallel universe, but its mark is pretty opposite: ethereal, otherwordly…

Yes, they are, but this is not a contradiction. An exit is always an entrance too. There’s something beyond that red sign, for sure…

The triangle. The displayed series is based on this geometric shape, a very strong element with millennial symbolic meanings. On the other hand, the triangle is quite a hype right now: in graphic, fashion, music…

Oh, yes?

Your reaction makes me smile and it’s already an answer to my next question, that is, what’s your position on this trend?

Are we talking about hipsters? They didn’t invent anything, it’s all a matter of trends coming back again and again. Let’s think about the ‘70s: the triangle influenced a whole generation.

I managed to provoke you, I see! Joking aside, I would like you talk about your personal approach to this shape, on a pure creative level and also in connection with its meaning for you.

Unfortunately – or luckily – I tend to proceed through confirmations, both in my work and in real life. It happened this time, as well.
I began this series because I wanted to release myself from the two-dimensional space. The triangle, on a practical level, seemed to me the most useful and suitable shape to build a volumetric structure. A further confirmation arrived while I was visiting my cousin, who builds artificial prosthesis: she was working at the computer and polygonal shape images formed by triangles appeared on the screen. I was curious, I asked her what they were and, by reducing the zoom, she showed me they were a graphic reconstruction of artificial bones.
I took this as an existential proof, even before a practical validation: it was like we were fully composed by triangles. I think everything can be built starting from this shape. I limited myself to the sky, for now.

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The atmospheric element is a counterpoint to the geometric one. While realizing Exit’s modules, when did the sky make its appearance: before, after or together with the triangle?

I started from the sky as a two-dimensional drawing. Even though, now that I think better about it, the very first “sky drawing” I made was on a series of triangular sheets I didn’t know how to use and develop. Only after some time I understood I simply had to assemble them and make them proliferate.

Indeed, you follow an opposite procedure than the one adopted in sculpture, where you start from an unicum and you remove pieces to let the detail emerge. On the contrary, you start from an atom and then add pieces to obtain the unicum…

Yes, I start from a unit, that influences all the others with its presence and, in doing so, the entire object. Moreover, the triangles are all the same dimension, so we could imagine to determine the precise surface of these sculptures by starting from the triangle’s sides. Are we daydreaming about measuring the sky, aren’t we? The conceptual mission of my work is precisely this: to calculate what is not measurable, what is immaterial. It’s always over our heads, but we can never catch and contain it in a unique vision.
After all, the choice of the sky as a subject is derived from a similar need. During the days after my mother’s death, a year ago, I found myself watching the sky very often, as I hadn’t done for a long time. When temporal life oppresses us, we look for a relief above us… in this case, I needed both to abstract from the pain and to search for my mother’s presence. That’s why I passed from sky observation to sky representation: giving it a shape and measures was like having the power to control it. It was a therapeutic action, it helped and accompanied me very much. This exhibition is dedicated to her, for sure.

Let’s switch on the influence the theatre is having on you. A couple of years ago, you started this experience [light designer for theatre shows, Author’s Note] and from that moment on your creative action has been deeply changing. Am I wrong?

It’s a process in progress and at present it’s still partly unconscious: when you deal with lights, sets, atmosphere changes, it’s difficult to come back home without being influenced.
On a rational level, I became passionate with light both technically and perceptively, or better with how it interacts with objects. Surely, this helped me to understand that it was time to emancipate myself from the two-dimensional space – that I have already explored and that was starting to bore me – and to move towards volumes. The Exit videos are my first experiment in this direction: at a certain point, it’s the no longer the artwork itself, but the light that determines the result.

We must accept to lose control…

Totally. The final effect was a surprise even to me, even though I was the one operating the source of light. The “picture of the situation” is set by the video, that becomes an independent artwork. Nothing is concluded in this process, on the contrary, we’re just at the start.

Future plans?

I’d like to continue with these skies and make them very big, passing from sculpture to installation, to scenography. I’m thinking about expansive projects, related to the places and the territory, capable to distract me from pure study.

Last question, maybe a bit weird, since we’re in a virtual context: would you ever give up the manual skill?

Never on Earth. Even when I realize videos, I’d always like they had the shade of a pencil. The pencil prevents me to be lazy.

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Dino Ignani. Dark Portraits

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“Non odio nulla più delle fotografie edulcorate tramite trucchi, pose ed effetti. Quindi permettetemi di essere onesto e di raccontare la verità sulla nostra epoca e la sua gente”.
L’affermazione suona straordinariamente contemporanea. Invece fu scritta quasi cent’anni fa da August Sander, il fotografo tedesco autore della celebre ricerca Menschen des 20. Jahrhunderts (Uomini del Ventesimo Secolo). L’obiettivo di Sander era dare vita a un catalogo della società moderna attraverso una serie di ritratti fotografici neutri e obiettivi, in cui per la prima volta l’interpretazione della scena cedeva il passo alla documentazione del soggetto.
In termini di intenti, Dino Ignani non si discosta molto, nel proprio lavoro, dalla formula utilizzata a suo tempo da Sander. Pur insistendo su un fenomeno molto specifico sia in termini sociali che storici e geografici, la fotografia seriale è infatti il contesto dove meglio possiamo posizionare il progetto 80’s Dark Portraits: una raccolta di ritratti dei frequentatori ed animatori dei club dark romani effettuata con metodo, rigore e costanza. Nelle oltre quattrocento immagini collezionate, la restituzione visiva dei soggetti – così come la loro scelta – è totalmente modulare e democratica, dal momento che l’inquadratura è quasi sempre frontale, il margine lasciato allo sfondo è minimo e il tempo dedicato alla posa è lo stretto necessario.

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Un siffatto schema visivo costringe lo spettatore a soffermarsi con la medesima attenzione su ciascuna delle persone ritratte, in modo da poter cogliere appieno quei particolari che le accumunano tutte a una certa categoria e allo stesso tempo le distinguono l’una dall’altra. E’ vero infatti che il movimento dark era connotato da dettami di stile ben precisi, quali le acconciature vistose, gli accessori esagerati, il trucco pesante e gli abiti neri, ma l’impressione fornita dall’osservazione dei vari soggetti è che ciascuno poi elaborasse le tendenze estetiche in chiave molto personale, per un bisogno di rispondenza interiore prima ancora che di esibizionismo o di accettazione collettiva. Benché il protagonista delle immagini sia il “popolo della notte” alternativo e anticonformista, scorrendo questi volti si respira un’aria spontanea e quasi ingenua, e la cosa non può non stupirci se nella nostra mente confrontiamo la ricerca in questione con il lavoro che oggigiorno più gli si avvicina, ossia il servizio fotografico che viene spesso fornito dai locali notturni. La consapevolezza di sé e la necessità di certificare la propria presenza che nei nostri tempi – complici i social network – vengono avanzate con prepotenza dal soggetto stesso, sembrano essere del tutto assenti nei ritratti di Ignani, dove pure la specificità e la particolarità di ognuno avrebbero giustificato la “presa di controllo” del momento dello scatto da parte di chi si offriva alla lente del fotografo.

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Invece la regia rimane sempre nelle mani del fotografo, che si tiene volutamente lontano anche dalle atmosfere patinate tipiche della moda, eccezion fatta per alcuni ritratti eseguiti sempre in quegli anni all’inaugurazione di Firenze / Londra. Arte moda 1985 presso la boutique Luisa Via Roma di Firenze: qui, gli elementi creativi tipici del movimento dark appaiono già riassorbiti e riproposti in chiave più conscia e smaliziata. L’esplorazione fotografica del movimento si chiude dunque per Ignani nello stesso momento in cui prende avvio la sua ufficializzazione sociale; la scelta di riproporla ai giorni nostri – in cui lo stile di quella generazione ha fatto il giro di boa, tornando di tendenza in veste di “vintage” – è un modo per rievocare la purezza di mostrarsi e mostrare secondo verità, che appare oggi la cosa più difficile da ritrovare.