Thoughts on Photographic Truth and Artistic Creation
The illusion of an exact description of a moment in time and space.” This is the definition of photography according to the significant American photographer Garry Winogrand. Photography describes (merely) and cannot narrate or interpret. What it describes is nothing more than a minimal piece of space and time. However, to this description, the information that the viewer of the photograph already has in mind about the depicted, as well as those that may arise from an accompanying text, are added. And automatically, all these external and -primarily- non-visual information are attributed to the photograph itself, giving it a quasi-documentary character, that is, a document. In short, everyone expects a photograph to “say” things they have in their mind, while a photograph cannot “say” absolutely nothing, only to suggest things concerning the photographer and to refer to things concerning the viewer.
The two most popular and widespread types of photography (memorial and journalistic) are fueled by the presence of people and events that have preceded the photograph. Therefore, the truth of these photographs is considered either given or provable. In these cases, photography usually acts as an emotional supplement to words or previous information. Digital photographic technology, with its ability to distort, has come to free the photographic image from the weight of a half-truth and an incomplete documentation.
The free field of expression and creation, which belongs exclusively to photography (and not to the information it contains), could be characterized as its artistic dimension. This photography can only describe with precision a piece of space and time, but is called upon to utilize the information and knowledge that the photographer has and to convey it to the viewer not as a direct and straightforward reference, but as an indirect referral to them. The photographic discourse, like any artistic discourse, cannot be probative but rather poetic and metaphorical. The emotion that a specific person (memorial photograph) provokes and the surprise that a specific event (journalistic photograph) provokes must manage to become reference points in order to generate emotions through the photograph itself and not from what it partially depicts. Thus, depicting a woman and a child does not prove kinship or emotional relationship, but can refer to it. And a facial contraction from a possible burst of laughter may refer to a scream, or heartbreaking crying. The photographer can neither avoid nor should avoid the accurate description, since this is the reason for the existence of a photograph, but the selection by the photographer of the piece of time and space will be based on what was exclusively excluded from the photograph by his initiative, meaning the existence of the four sides of the photograph, in other words, the "frame", which ultimately gives significance to the minimal information contained in it. The more impressive, striking, specific, and recognizable the contained information is, the more difficult it is for the photographer to manage to elicit emotion and generate interest by referring and not showing.
This results in it being extremely rare for a photograph to relate to the commission of a crime and to generate interest even by referring to it. And this is primarily because the actions (preparatory or executive) of a crime require not just simple description, but narration (even fiction), something that is within the context of the capabilities and qualities of cinema and literature, or the possibility of transformation and possibly idealization, which is the realm of painting. Secondly, also the consciousness that the photographic description constitutes a silent and by convention acceptance of the "truth" depicted ends up, either to fully believe the truth of the depicted (which can only be done by invoking extra-photographic information), or to not believe in the truth of the description and to lose the "truth" of the photographer, that is, of his creative presence.
The discourse about photography seems constantly (and logically) to thirst for photographic examples. But again, these examples risk oversimplifying the complexity of the problems and the highly complex role that photography plays in our century's culture as a memory or as a document, but also as a source of emotion and reference.
Nevertheless, let us attempt to present some photographs to make the preceding questions and comments more comprehensible. In one of the early photographs of the previous century (with a large wooden camera and glass photographic plate), an unknown to us photographer depicts the stealing of a wallet from a gentleman polishing his shoes by a young thief (Photograph 1). Our knowledge convinces us that the scene is staged, hence our interest is related neither to the event nor to the photograph, but only (possibly) to the history of Photography in general. In another photograph of the same era, also by an unknown photographer (Photograph 2), a good-looking and calm young man with an iron ball on his foot is depicted. Here a caption informs us that it is someone who is actually imprisoned. In this case, we are more willing to believe the claim, but again we realize that the truth of the information comes from the caption, given that it could be equally fictional as the previous one. Again, therefore, we remain indifferent both to the photograph (which did not transcend the event), and to the event itself (which did not convince us of its significance).
If at that time (19th century) the public's curiosity for the new "toy" ensured the success of the photographer, by the end of the 20th century the cunning photographers of conceptual art had to sophisticate something seemingly more complex. The cinema armchair depicted by the American fine-art photographer (!) Joel Sternfeld (born in 1944) holds no interest (photographic or other) and the photographer knows this well, so with the verbose accompanying caption he informs us that it is the armchair in which Lee Harvey Oswald was sitting when he was arrested by Dallas police officers for the assassination of President Kennedy. The caption also informs us about the date and time of the arrest, as well as the titles of the two movies that were shown that day in the cinema with one ticket. Thus, it tries to draw interest (because artistic or other emotion is excluded from achieving, nor does it seek to) by elevating to an artistic find something that in the 19th century might have constituted (even simple) surprise and curiosity. To succeed in converting the simplistic find into a tool of artistic avant-garde and not to be treated as merely naïve journalistic effect, he repeats the same find with other consciously indifferent photographs with extensive captions. Two points are worth emphasizing, first that the photographs in this case should not seek autonomy and particular value because the find would be negated, and second that no one after him is allowed to attempt something similar because it would cease to be a find. This is the well-known déjà vu (always in French and preferably with English pronunciation) used internationally by gallerists.
Negative examples may be more useful for supporting views, but they deprive us of the joy and enjoyment of art. Let us therefore move to the interwar years, to a German town, where the great photographer August Sander (1876-1964) started as a personal photographic project (we would say today) photographing various fellow citizens of his, without wanting to use these photographs for any scientific or professional purpose. Below (or behind) each photograph, he made sure to simply record the identity of the person photographed. The different identities have no purpose (nor can they after all) to interpret or complement the photographs, since (according to what we said above) they could be fictional, random, or imaginative. We learn (?) that a half-naked expressionless man is a Political prisoner (Photograph 4). The presentation of a Wehrmacht soldier's photograph (Photograph 5) could make the information dimension of the previous photograph more dramatic. Although the expression of the soldier, as well as the particular rural background of the photograph, generate more questions than answers. The subsequent presentation (Photographs 6 and 7) of a Beggar and a woman who, we are informed, is a Victim of an explosion raises even more questions. The treatment of all these photographs together shows how liberated they are from their minimalistic captions and how equally liberated they are from the truth of the information that accompanies them. Here the photographer created his own shadow play, his own world, his own truth.
If despite all that preceded I had to conclude with a photographer who relates to the world of crime (so as to be somewhat consistent with the request for the composition of this article), I could find no better example than the American (of Austrian descent) Arthur Felig (1899-1968), better known by the nickname Weegee given to himself as an exclamation of admiration. To survive professionally, he had established acquaintances with police officers and firefighters, so they would call him immediately after the commission of a crime. Here the truth of the depicted almost arises by itself. No captions are needed. However, the truth ends up weaker than the description. And this constitutes the power of photography, or rather the authenticity of the photographer who knows how to utilize the power of photography to ultimately (in his really good photographs) transcend the event depicted. The strict frame and the distortive and selective lighting with the strong flash, whose angle does not correspond to the shooting angle, give the sense of a theatrical set (Photographs 8 and 9). While the depiction of the trace of a corpse (Photograph 10) makes the photograph much stronger than the potential depiction of this corpse, as it emphasizes the dimension of the photograph as a trace, making the trace of a possible corpse stronger than the presence of a real (always with a question mark) corpse.
Finally, it is useful to emphasize the significance of Weegee's excellent photograph depicting a crowd shouting (Photograph 11). This is a photograph that illustrates with incredible intelligence the transformative power of the photographic medium and makes the reality behind the image indifferent (but not at all useless). This photograph is part of a broader photographic endeavor by Weegee, who photographed choirs. These men therefore have no value as choirs (which they are), or as protesting citizens, or as a manipulated dangerous crowd, simply because the photograph must - without ignoring the event it describes - transcend it by turning it into a trace, so as to broaden its significance and connect it with the traces of other photographs by the same photographer. If the diligent reader takes the trouble to present the trace of the corpse, with the prisoners in the cage and the shouting choirs (Photographs 9-10-11) they will perceive the dynamic presence and significance of the photographer and will overlook the subjects (real and accurately described) depicted. Weegee died without being recognized as a good photographer, but only as a well-known photojournalist of his time.
Plato Rivellis