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4.08 AVERAGE
4.08 AVERAGE
dark
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very well written, engaging. also engages with many forms of media so that was cool. im interested to read more sontag
challenging
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medium-paced
Being a spectator of calamites taking place in another country is a quintessential modern experience.
How else to make a dent when there is incessant exposure to images, and overexposure to a handful of images seen again and again? The image as shock and the image as cliché are two aspects of the same presence.
The memory of war, however, like all memory, is mostly local….But for a war to break out of its immediate constituency and become a subject of international attention, it must be regarded as something of an exception, as wars go, and represent more than the clashing interests of the belligerents themselves.(invested with the meaning of larger struggles). A Most wars do not acquire the requisite fuller meaning.
the gruesome invites us to be either spectators or cowards, unable to look. Those with the stomach to look are playing a role authorized by many glorious depictions of suffering. Torment, a canonical subject in art, is often represented in painting as a spectacle, something being watched (or ignored) by other people. The implication is: no, it cannot be stopped——and the mingling of inattentive with attentive onlookers underscores this.
artists "make" drawings and paintings while photographers "take" photographs. But the photographic image, even to the extent that it is a trace (not a construction made out of disparate photographic traces), cannot be simply a transparency of something that happened. It is always the image that someone chose; to photograph is to frame, and to frame is to exclude.
The more remote or exotic the place, the more likely we are to have full frontal views of the dead and dying. These sights carry a double message. They show a suffering that is outrageous, unjust, and should be repaired. They confirm that this is the sort of thing which happens in that place. The ubiquity of those photographs, and those horrors, cannot help but nourish belief in the inevitability of tragedy in the benighted or backward that is, poor parts of the world.
The exhibition in photographs of cruelties inflicted on those with darker complexions in exotic countries continues this offering, oblivious to the considerations that deter such displays of our own victims of violence; for the other, even when not an enemy, is regarded only as someone to be seen, not someone (like us) who also sees.
in their focus on the powerless, reduced to their powerlessness. It is significant that the powerless are not named in the captions. A portrait that declines to name its subject becomes complicit, if inadvertently, in the cult of celebrity that has fueled an insatiable appetite for the opposite sort of photograph: to grant only the famous their names demotes the rest to representative instances of their occupations, their ethnicities, their plights.
Photographs that everyone recognizes are now a constituent part of what a society chooses to think about, or declares that it has chosen to think about. It calls these ideas "memories," and that is, over the long run, a fiction. Strictly speaking, there is no such thing as collective memory — part of the same family of spurious notions as collective guilt. But there is collective instruction.
Which atrocities from the incurable past do we think we are obliged to revisit?
Compassion is an unstable emotion. It needs to be translated into action, or it withers. The question is what to do with the feelings that have been aroused, the knowledge that has been communicated. If one feels that there is nothing "we" can do but who is that "we"? and nothing "they" can do either- and who are "they"? then one starts to get bored, cynical, apathetic.
A museum or gallery visit is a social situation, riddled with distractions, in the course of which art is seen and commented on.*
*The evolution of the museum itself has gone far toward expanding this ambience of distraction. Once a repository for conserving and displaying the fine arts of the past, the museum has become a vast educational institution-cum-emporium, one of whose functions is the exhibition of art. The primary function is entertainment and education in various mixes, and the marketing of experiences, tastes, and simulacra.
How else to make a dent when there is incessant exposure to images, and overexposure to a handful of images seen again and again? The image as shock and the image as cliché are two aspects of the same presence.
The memory of war, however, like all memory, is mostly local….But for a war to break out of its immediate constituency and become a subject of international attention, it must be regarded as something of an exception, as wars go, and represent more than the clashing interests of the belligerents themselves.(invested with the meaning of larger struggles). A Most wars do not acquire the requisite fuller meaning.
the gruesome invites us to be either spectators or cowards, unable to look. Those with the stomach to look are playing a role authorized by many glorious depictions of suffering. Torment, a canonical subject in art, is often represented in painting as a spectacle, something being watched (or ignored) by other people. The implication is: no, it cannot be stopped——and the mingling of inattentive with attentive onlookers underscores this.
artists "make" drawings and paintings while photographers "take" photographs. But the photographic image, even to the extent that it is a trace (not a construction made out of disparate photographic traces), cannot be simply a transparency of something that happened. It is always the image that someone chose; to photograph is to frame, and to frame is to exclude.
The more remote or exotic the place, the more likely we are to have full frontal views of the dead and dying. These sights carry a double message. They show a suffering that is outrageous, unjust, and should be repaired. They confirm that this is the sort of thing which happens in that place. The ubiquity of those photographs, and those horrors, cannot help but nourish belief in the inevitability of tragedy in the benighted or backward that is, poor parts of the world.
The exhibition in photographs of cruelties inflicted on those with darker complexions in exotic countries continues this offering, oblivious to the considerations that deter such displays of our own victims of violence; for the other, even when not an enemy, is regarded only as someone to be seen, not someone (like us) who also sees.
in their focus on the powerless, reduced to their powerlessness. It is significant that the powerless are not named in the captions. A portrait that declines to name its subject becomes complicit, if inadvertently, in the cult of celebrity that has fueled an insatiable appetite for the opposite sort of photograph: to grant only the famous their names demotes the rest to representative instances of their occupations, their ethnicities, their plights.
Photographs that everyone recognizes are now a constituent part of what a society chooses to think about, or declares that it has chosen to think about. It calls these ideas "memories," and that is, over the long run, a fiction. Strictly speaking, there is no such thing as collective memory — part of the same family of spurious notions as collective guilt. But there is collective instruction.
Which atrocities from the incurable past do we think we are obliged to revisit?
Compassion is an unstable emotion. It needs to be translated into action, or it withers. The question is what to do with the feelings that have been aroused, the knowledge that has been communicated. If one feels that there is nothing "we" can do but who is that "we"? and nothing "they" can do either- and who are "they"? then one starts to get bored, cynical, apathetic.
A museum or gallery visit is a social situation, riddled with distractions, in the course of which art is seen and commented on.*
*The evolution of the museum itself has gone far toward expanding this ambience of distraction. Once a repository for conserving and displaying the fine arts of the past, the museum has become a vast educational institution-cum-emporium, one of whose functions is the exhibition of art. The primary function is entertainment and education in various mixes, and the marketing of experiences, tastes, and simulacra.
Short, incisive, insightful, and relevant. Sontag’s art criticism is refreshingly material and demanding. Anyone could and should give it a try.
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I picked this up because I was thinking, "Do I need to keep seeing the destruction of Gazan lives in my social media feed? I mean, I get it." I guess I was hoping Sontag would be like, "stop looking, it's voyeurism, it's not leading to action," or something like that, to let me off the hook. She doesn't do that. She doesn't exactly do the opposite, and she wonders if the pictures on the cigarette packs will continue to deter smokers after the first few encounters, but she ultimately acknowledges the power of images to communicate horror, although obviously, pictures aren't enough to end war or genocide. Or smoking. There's also a lot in here about the differences between posed photos, professional photos, artistic photos (and paintings), and the 'accidental' photos of amateurs and how we then interpret the horror in those images.
Somewhere in the middle, I thought, "Where is this going?" but the last two sections were so great, every sentence worth underlining.
Somewhere in the middle, I thought, "Where is this going?" but the last two sections were so great, every sentence worth underlining.
dark
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fast-paced
challenging
informative
reflective
sad
medium-paced