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Ice, Ice, Baby
By Paul D. Miller
“Photograph: a picture painted by the sun without instruction in art.”
~ Ambrose Bierce
The future isn’t what it used to be. As I sit here and write in NY,
it’s the 20th anniversary of Photoshop, and we stand poised to see an
IMAX version of the Hubble telecsope’s photographs of the cosmos
narrated by Leonardo DiCaprio. It’s 2010, and the hall of mirrors that
we call modern finance is in full fledged meltdown, and of course, as
always, it’s just a kind of quotidian scenario for the cell phone,
mobile camera “enhanced reality” info-economy that we call home. What
I want to write about is the basic sense of realism that travel
photography brings to our collective psyche in the world of
hyper-realism and hyper fractured relativity. Capitalism implies and
induces insecurity on a vast scale, and that kind of market
insecurity, which is constantly being exploited, of course, by all
sorts of people and nations. Cameras capture that, and allow us to
hold it in our hands like a drop of amber from a remote, Paleolithic
era. That’s the basic reality of hyper-post-everything 21st century
realism. From Edward Burtynsky's "Manufactured Landscapes" on over
Bernie Madoff to the infamous statement of one of G.W. Bush’s chief
aides who said that we are no longer in what he liked to call the
“reality based community,” this kind of “unheimlich” (as Sigmund Freud
liked to call the “uncanny”), over shadows almost anything that
scientific imagery can come up with. You simply can never be sure…
The statement comes home to roost: reality, and realism, like a plot
of a story we all know, like scaffolding being torn down around a
familiar building, we thought we knew, and that suddenly vanishes into
thin, very thin air. Which brings me to my topic: photography in
Antarctica.
This is Aperture magazine, so I’m going to write about cool
photographs from Antarctica – but, elliptically. In the Austral summer
of 2008 I went to Antarctica, and took a studio along with me to
document the process of what it would be like to create music symphony
out of acoustic portraits of ice. I know that’s not exactly the theme
of material that Aperture normally covers, but hey… I like to create
strange and unexpected juxtapositions. Consider this: in June, 1910, a
ship called the Terra Nova, set sail from England with one goal in
mind – to reach the South Pole. One of the 33 crew members under
Captain Robert Scott's command was Herbert Ponting, the first "camera
artist" to be taken to Antarctica. Think of this scenario as the same
realism as Neil Armstrong’s moon landings, and you can begin to
imagine how complex the voyage was, and how deeply moving the images
of ice that Ponting, and later, Frank Hurley, bought back to the
“civilized” world on the edge of World War I. Realism, indeed.
Where some would say that the idea of creating scenes from
“actualities” Georges Méliès, was a French filmmaker famous for
leading many technical and narrative developments in the earliest
cinema. He was very innovative in the use of special effects. He
accidentally discovered the stop trick, or substitution, in 1896, and
was one of the first filmmakers to use multiple exposures, time-lapse
photography, dissolves, and hand-painted color in his films. Because
of his ability to seemingly manipulate and transform reality through
cinematography, Méliès is sometimes referred to as the "Cinemagician.”
I like to think of the realism of the Lumière brothers as the
counter-point to the same material that Méliès experimented with.
Without the two - exploration photography wouldn't have the same
gravitas. Impossible voyages, that's what travel photography likes to
capture, and in a way, that's one of the inspirations for the symphony
I wrote in Antarctica - moving into historical photographs from 1910
as a guidepost for my own journey in 2008.
Along with Orson Welles, who was also a magician, I’ve always been
drawn to how people can take our beliefs in the “ureal” and create
radically reconstructed versions of a kind of “hyper-reality” – stuff
like Orson Welles’ infamous “War of the Worlds” with the Mercury
Theater on the Air, on October 30, 1938, or Stalin’s penchant for
erasing his opponents fro
m photographs etc. All of that comes to mind with what I like to think
of the kind of “natural” photographs that Ponting and Hurley bequeath
to us. I still have an eerie feeling when I see them. I’m haunted by
Méliès and Welles – of magicians become film-makers and photographers,
and back again. The realism of which, is always, always, always, part
of the debate we need to explore as the 21st century unfolds.
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