The first time I saw a human corpse while ‘on the job’ was when I was a photojournalist for The Williamson County Sun in Georgetown Texas.
It was a fairly undramatic looking car wreck.
A pickup truck had lost control and rolled over into the median on I-5 northbound. The driver was a contractor, did small repairs, household work, that kind of thing. He was folded over the steering wheel, and it took me some time to realize I was looking at a human body. The way the crash worked out, his head and shoulders were concealed by the folded-over windshield. For what seemed like a long time I thought I was looking at a bag of laundry. Without life to animate it, his body seemed more like an object than a person.
A few yards down from the wreck you could see where the roll began. Among the door handles and fragments of safety glass was a pile of his business cards, all blowing away in the wind.
I was deeply struck by the fact that a few hours before you could call the number on the card and he would answer. Now they were like startled birds flying away from the scene to carry the news of his death in every direction. And that phone number had instantly become meaningless.
I tried, like damn, to get all of this into one photo. I wanted to show that not only had a car crashed, but a man’s story had just ended. The now useless business cards were like temporary tombstones erasing his life as they flew away.
But the geometry just didn’t work. I was, of course, on a deadline. And no matter where I put myself or whatever lens I put on, I simply couldn’t find a way to put all of these elements together in a way that would make sense to a viewer. Even outside of the rules that govern responsible photojournalism, even if I could just set it up and arrange things however I liked, I still doubt I’d be able to make an image that worked. Big wrecked truck, tiny print on quickly moving business cards, a gray sky… It was a lot to cram into a 24x36mm frame, and a lot to hope people would get it.
There’s an approach to talking about your art that goes like “everything you need to know is contained within the piece, for me to explain it is condescending and unnecessary.”
This is cute. And it’s great if you’re unwilling or, more likely, unable to talk about your work.
But it’s also bullshit.
You can’t hide behind your work. Or at least you shouldn’t. For art to ‘happen’ the artist and the viewer have to combine resources. The artist brings observation and technique, the viewer brings (we hope) enough of their own knowledge and experience to get it.
If what you want to say is simple (babies are cute, sunsets are pretty) then you’re likely OK doing the silent artist routine. But if you want to say something more complex, if you want to have ambiguity, create unease, make people think… you have to engage with people.
Moreover, the world is an untidy place, and things don’t always fit into neat little rectangles.
Which is why I’m starting this blog. Or journal. Or whatever this is.
Finding the words to describe what you’re doing, or filling in the gaps (i.e. I don’t expect most American viewers to understand ultra-right wing extremists in Japan) you have to do the work.
This is that work. Thanks for reading. More to come.