Category: BLOG POST 4 (Page 1 of 2)

MORIYAMA-7

Daido Moriyama is a Japanese photographer known for portraying the contrast of traditional values and modern society in post-war Japan. He was born on October 10, 1938, and often visit the city of Yokosuka, which is home to an American naval base. His black and white pictures can make one feel unsettled or dark. The photograph I choose was named “Stray Dog” and as the name says, the photograph was of a rugged and abandoned dog. It was taken in 1971 in Misawa. The studium of this picture was the dark side of urban life. A lot of Moriyama’s pictures feature this element and idea of darkness and urban life. The picture is a bit grainy and blurry which adds to that unsettling feeling. It reflects a harsher perspective of the reality than we assume. Unlike other photographers that may take pictures to convey messages, Moriyama is more so of an explorer. From his pictures, you see the exploration into the different less-seen parts of the city. The punctum of this picture for me was the unnerving nature and piercing look of the dog. If I were to see this picture within matters of seconds and had to visualize it in head, I would depict a wolf. A wild beast. At the same time, the stare of the dog made me feel like it was looking into me. This made me believe that Moriyama might have taken a picture like this to draw a connection between humans and this lost creature. To put it in other words, from this picture I believe that like this dog, we wander in this harsh society looking for a place that would welcome me. In this big world that holds countless possibilities and danger, we are lost. We would have a similar aggression like this dog had in this picture as we would to strangers. There is also this other perspective that the dog is like those who don’t fit in. In our impression, dogs are adorable creatures and man’s best friend but this stray dog overthrows that idea. This is another idea that frequently appears in his photographs, the “different” ones. Perhaps the word outcast is too harsh in this case but in my experience, this stray dog can also convey a similar meaning. In Moriyama’s photographs, I find that he often depicts the messy and bold views in society and to me, there is a lot of beauty in it like “Stray Dog”. It highlights the erotics and the unconventional beauty of society. Not to mention, his pictures are mysterious and contain this thrill of not knowing what will happen next.

Part One

In chapter 5, Barthes writes, “It can happen that I am observed without knowing it, and again I cannot speak of this experience, since I have determined to be guided by the consciousness of my feelings. But very often (too often, to my taste) I have been photographed and knew it. Now, once I feel myself observed by the lens, everything changes: I constitute myself in the process of “posing,” I instantaneously make another body for myself, I transform myself in advance into an image. This transformation is an active one: I feel that the Photograph creates my body or mortifies it, according to its caprice (apology of this mortiferous power: certain Communards paid with their lives for their willingness or even their eagerness to pose on the barricades: defeated, they were recognized by Thiers’s police and shot, almost every one)” (10-11).

I chose this passage because I believe that it is crucial to Barthes’ argument regarding the power the photograph has over the person being photographed (the subject of the photo). Barthes writes that he is often being photographed and knows it. As soon as he feels himself being “observed by the lens”, everything changes for him and he begins to pose for the photograph. It is interesting that Barthes explains that the photograph objectifies the person and makes him sense (both see and feel) himself transforming into an immobile object that represents one part of him but fails to capture his entire essence. Barthes describes the person’s image of oneself becoming another body, although the person feels death as the photograph is taken and he is objectified. This passage helps me to understand Barthes’ text more generally as a reader, because it really isn’t confusing and allows me to feel what Barthes feels as a person who is being photographed. The action of immediately striking a certain pose for a photograph is very relatable, and it makes sense that we decide how we want to present ourselves to the camera. Nevertheless, no one photograph can capture everything we want to be captured about ourselves and our personal image. The feeling of death that Barthes mentions in this passage ties well with his discussion of thinking about time and death, in relation to the target of a photograph.

Part Two

In chapter 39, Barthes states “At the time (at the beginning of this book: already far away) when I was inquiring into my attachment to certain photographs, I thought I could distinguish a field of cultural interest (the studium) from that unexpected flash which sometimes crosses this field and which I called the punctum. I now know that there exists another punctum (another “stigmatum”) than the “detail.” This new punctum, which is no longer of form but of intensity, is Time, the lacerating emphasis of the noeme (“that-has-been”), its pure representation. In 1865, young Lewis Payne tried to assassinate Secretary of State W. H. Seward. Alexander Gardner photographed him in his cell, where he was waiting to be hanged. The photograph is handsome, as is the boy: that is the studium. But the punctum is: he is going to die. I read at the same time: This will be and this has been; I observe with horror an anterior future of which death is the stake. By giving me the absolute past of the pose (aorist), the photograph tells me death in the future. What pricks me is the discovery of this equivalence. In front of the photograph of my mother as a child, I tell myself: she is going to die: I shudder, like Winnicott’s psychotic patient, over a catastrophe which has already occurred. Whether or not the subject is already dead, every photograph is this catastrophe” (94-96).

I found this passage particularly fascinating, because after referencing the stadium and punctum he writes about in Part 1, Barthes introduces a new and different punctum that exists alongside the “detail”, the one thing in the photograph that is different from everything else and actually defines the photo. Surprisingly, this new punctum is time. Barthes offers Alexander Gardner’s “Portrait of Lewis Payne, 1865” as an example of a photograph where time as a punctum is important. While convict Lewis Payne is the stadium of the photograph, the punctum is his upcoming death. Below the photograph there is a caption stating, “He is dead and he is going to die…” Thus, Barthes explains that by giving him “the absolute past of the pose”, he knows that death is in store for Lewis Payne, the subject of this photograph. Another example is when he looks at a photograph of his mother as a child, he knows she eventually dies, even though she has already died long ago, and feels a sense of sadness. Regardless of whether the subject is dead, he admits that he shudders over the catastrophe of death, which has already occurred, with every photograph. Before reading Camera Lucida, I had never considered this perspective on looking at a photograph. I would simply think about the subject having already died or still being alive, but not as them dying in the future. Frankly, this is a really grim perspective that has made me rethink photography on a whole different level. Not only do I understand Barthes’ point here, but I also feel that he discusses an integral element of analyzing a photograph, since time is part of the story behind a photograph. Furthermore, the thoughts that arise from analyzing this new punctum evoke intense emotions for the spectator.

It’s Question Time

Is there potentially a third punctum, aside from detail and time, that can uniquely define a photograph and change the way we look at it?

It’s Image Time (sorry I know it’s a lot of images but I’m passionate about urban photography)

I wanted to include comments, but well, if you read the book, you know what I’m talking about. By the way, I actually took all these photos by myself from my phone camera. The first three are from New York City, the second to last one is from Providence, RI, and the last one is from Philadelphia, PA. Hope you enjoy!

Part One

“But very often (too often, to my taste) I have been photographed and knew it. Now once I feel myself observed by the lens, everything changes: I constitute myself in the process of “posing,” I instantaneously make another body for myself, I transform myself to advance into an image. This transformation is an active one: I feel that the Photograph creates my body or mortifies it,” (10-11)

This passage begins Barthes’ explanation of the importance of the target in photography. This part stood out to me as he explains rather clearly (surprisingly so), the effect of a camera on a standing target. The person in the photo loses their natural state and turns rigid as Barthes describes. I understood this as I have always had trouble smiling “naturally” for the camera. This is important to Barthes’ exploration of photography as this adds to the idea that photography is missing an element of real life. Additionally, this adds to the theme of “death” in photography. Barthes refers back to photography adding a “mortifying” aspect, hence an important part to his argument.

Part Two

“I studied the little girl and at last rediscovered my mother. The distinctness of her face, the naive attitude of her hands, the place she had docielely taken without either showing or hiding herself … all this constituted the figure of a sovereign innocence … the assertion of a gentleness. (69)

Before this passage, Barthes spends a few pages discussing his journey of searching for the perfect photograph of his mother. He looked through everything he could find but each photo seemed off, it didn’t seem to capture his mother as he remembered her. The features might have been vaguely familiar but the emotional aspect given off to Barthes made his mother in the photos he found unrecognizable to him. This passage stood out to me because it was a heartfelt moment where Barthes finally found the photograph he was looking for. Interestingly enough, it was a photo of his mother as a child, way before he was born. So while he doesn’t fully recognize the features of this girl at first, the other non-visual features lead his senses. Specifically, the photograph emanates his mother’s kindness, something that Barthes’ cherishes. This passage helped me understand what Barthes is searching for in a photograph or what in general he is referring to throughout the book.

Is there a way to immortalize ourselves through a photograph?

Does that image change depending on who is viewing it?

Part 1

What I want, in short, is that my (mobile) image, buffeted among a thousand shifting photographs, altering with situation and age, should always coincide with my (profound) “self”; but it is the contrary that must be said: “myself” never coincides with my image; for it is the image which is heavy, motionless, stubborn (which is why society sustains it), and “myself” which is light, divided, dispersed; like a bottle-imp, “myself” doesn’t hold still, giggling in my jar: if only Photography could give me a neutral, anatomic body, a body which signifies nothing! – Chapter 5, Page 12

I found this excerpt interesting because while it unnecessarily complicates the process of taking a picture of oneself, it helps make sense of the thought processes involved that we take for granted. My interpretation of the text is that Barthes believes a photograph should always accurately portray the true, inherent qualities of the subject, but this never happens because the subject puts up a facade. The general idea, then, makes a lot of sense. Typically when we take pictures of ourselves, we intend to share it with people we know. This necessitates that we portray ourselves in a certain way (whether it be accurate or inaccurate), depending on what kind of reaction we want to receive. It’s interesting to note how different this is from the principal purpose of photography: to capture an exact representation of a particular moment.

Part 2

The effect it produces upon me is not to restore what has been abolished (by time, by distance) but to attest that what I see has indeed existed. Now, this is a strictly scandalous effect. Always the Photograph astonishes me, with an astonishment which endures and renews itself, inexhaustibly. Perhaps this astonishment, this persistence reaches down into the religious substance out of which I am molded; nothing for it: Photography has something to do with resurrection: might we not say of it what the Byzantines said of the image of Christ which impregnated St. Veronika’s napkin: that it was not made by the hand of man, acheiropoietos? – Chapter 35, Page 82

The idea of photography somewhat being a vehicle of resurrection is interesting, but I feel it would be more accurate to call it a lens on the past (provided, of course, the photographer did not intentionally manipulate the details of the photo to spark a specific reaction). “Resurrection” implies that a photo is bringing a moment back to life, and while it does this to some extent, we cannot relive a moment just by looking at a photo. The only way a photo could enable us to relive a moment is if we were present at the time the photo was taken. It could then act as a catalyst for a chain reaction of memories associated with that moment. Otherwise, if we know nothing about a particular photo other than what we see, it is more like a lens — a snapshot of an event that only gives us partial information of the bigger picture.

Question

What distinguishes photography from other representations of art, like paintings (it seems that Barthes’ reflections on photography can easily be applied to non-photographic art)?

Image

Vasily Vereshchagin, A Resting Place of Prisoners, 1878-79

“Having thus distinguished two themes in Photograph (for in general the photographs I liked were constructed in the manner of a classical sonata), I could occupy myself with one after the other.” (Barthes, 27) This is essentially the entirety of chapter 10.

This section of Camera Lucida opens the floodgates to the rest of Part one, and sets the stage for the two key characteristics within a photograph. In order to truly appreciate a photograph as a spectator, one must distinguish between these two themes. They act as weapons of mass analysis. These include the studium and the punctum. This part of the passage called to me as it kindled my Latin knowledge. In addition, it serves a heavy role in the future of the book, and is expected to be thoroughly understood as the author loosely throws the jargon when analyzing photography. The first part of these dual forces serves as the more difficult one. In Latin, studium means zeal or spirit. In photography, the studium encapsulates the spirit of the photo, the general gist of the photo that is acknowledged by the average audience. However, the latter part is much more direct and simpler to understand. In Latin, punctum means point or puncture. In photography, the punctum serves as the irregularity that exists within the photo, the extra detail to the photo that interrupts the studium and adds spice it. Equipped with these two forces, readers are now one step closer to understanding the essence of photography.

“Contrary to these imitations, in Photography I can never deny that the thing has been there. There is a superposition here: of reality and of the past. And since this constraint exists only for Photography, we must consider it, by very reduction, as the very essence, the noeme of Photography. What I intentionalize in a photograph (we are not yet speaking of film) is neither Art nor Communication, it is Reference, which is the founding order of Photography.” (Barthes, 76-7)

This section of Camera Lucida is a breath of fresh air after the reading the beginning of part two, which I personally felt had little content in relation to photography and was too personal. This passage highlights the aspect of photography that is undeniable to its creation: the Reference. Otherwise known as “that-has-been” or the noeme of Photography, this element of Photography captures an aspect of it’s essence. It is essential to the photography, for without the original Referent, it cannot exist as an artform, a mode of communication, or as a whole, thus making it the “founding order of Photograph.” It is not a particularly hard concept to grasp, in fact, by being amidst a seemingly endless clutter of retrospection concerning familial ties, this chapter as a whole has a sense of enhanced coherency, especially after the direct connection with the Referent mentioned long ago is established.

Question: With the rise in editing software and photoshop, to what extent do the concepts of the photographic referent and its inherent necessity hold up in the current day?

While the studium of the photo would be the serene pond landscape, the punctum, in my eyes, would be the sharp contrast in color provided by the red leaves toward the right side of the photo.

1) “But very often (too often, to my taste) I have been photographed and knew it. Now, once I feel myself observed by the lens, everything changes: I constitute myself in the process of ‘posing,’ I instantaneously make another body for myself, I transform myself in advance into an image. This transformation is an active one: I feel that the Photograph creates my body or mortifies it, according to its caprice…” (Barthes 10-11).

This generation can definitely relate to this remark about the camera because we have so much experience with it. Everything needs to go on Snapchat and Instagram, and as soon as the camera faces us, we have to have a certain pose. This can relate to Barthes’ ideas on page 13 where he says that in front of the lens, you are three different personalities: you are the one you think you are, the one the photographer thinks you are, and the one he makes you to exhibit his art. This produces inauthenticity, just like social media produces inauthenticity and an illusion that does not really reflect what is going on in the real world. This passage is an important one for our generation because it accurately reflects our daily behavior.

2) “For I often dream about her (I dream only about her), but it is never quite my mother: sometimes, in the dream, there is something misplaced, something excessive: for example, something playful or casual-which she never was; or again I know it is she, but I do not see her features (but do we see, in dreams, or do we know?): I dream about her, I do not dream her” (Barthes 66).

Barthes spends the beginning of Part Two talking about his mom and the reader can see that she holds a special place in his heart. He states, “I dream about her, I do not dream her.” This really hit me because he is not able to dream his mom since he does not know exactly what she looks like. This brings us back to the idea of the photograph and its inauthenticity. Is he not able to dream her because the pictures he looks at are inauthentic or do not provide an accurate representation of his mom? Is it because of her “posing”? Is a picture really worth a thousand words if it cannot give us an accurate representation of something? I thought this passage emotionally appealed to the reader to show them the limitations of pictures and their worth of a thousand words.

3) Barthes states on page 20, “suddenly a specific photograph…it animates me, and I animate it…but it animates me: this is what creates every adventure.” What exactly is he talking about here? How does the picture “animate” or “capture” him and how does he “animate” or “contribute” to the picture? How does the interaction between a photograph and its viewer create a sense of “adventure”?

4) My picture is not being uploaded for some reason.

Part One 

“Ultimately, what I am seeking in the photograph taken of me (the “intention” according to which I look at it) is Death: Death is the eidos of the Photograph. Hence, strangely, the only thing that I tolerate, that I like, that is familiar to me, when I am photographed, is the sound of the camera. For me, the Photographer’s organ is not his eye (which terrifies me) but his finger: what is linked to the trigger of the lens, to the metallic shifting of the plates (when the camera still has such things). I love these mechanical sounds in an almost voluptuous way, as if, in the Photograph, they were the very things – and the only thing – to which my desire clings, their abrupt click breaking through the mortiferous layer of the Pose. For me the noise of Time is not sad: I love bells, clocks, watches – and I recall that at first photographic implements were related to techniques of cabinetmaking and the machinery of precision: cameras, in short, were clocks for seeing, and perhaps in me someone very old still hears in the photographic mechanism the living sound of wood” (15).

This passage is intriguing, but a little confusing. Barthes claims that when a photograph is taken, the subject loses some of his or her essence and ultimately “dies” as an object. However, Barthes enjoys hearing the click of the camera, knowing that his image will be captured and his human soul will be lost in the resulting photograph. It is very counterintuitive in that he understands that the death of his mortal essence is a result of the clicking of the camera that he enjoys so much. Also, Barthes explains that he enjoys the sound of time passing, whether it is from the ticking of a watch or the ringing of bells. Is this passage trying to tell the reader something about Barthes’ mental state at the time?

Part Two

“The Photograph does not necessarily what what is no longer, but only and for certain what has been. This distinction is decisive. In front of a photograph, our consciousness does not necessarily take the nostalgic path of memory (how many photographs are outside of individual time), but for every photograph existing in the world, the path of certainty: the Photograph’s essence is to ratify what it represents. One day I received from a photographer a picture of myself which I could not remember being taken, for all my efforts; I inspected the tie, the sweater, to discover in what circumstances I had worn them; to no avail. And yet, because it was a photograph I could not deny that I had been there (even if I did not know where). This distortion between certainty and oblivion gave me a kind of vertigo, something of a “detective” anguish (the theme of Blow-Up was not far off); I went to the photographer’s show as to a police investigation, to learn at last what I no longer knew about myself” (85). 

This passage highlights the idea that the viewer of a photograph can learn something new about themselves when they are the subject of a photograph. For most, when viewers look at a photograph of an unknown subject, they can learn something about the time period that it was taken or about the lifestyle of the subject, and experience what Barthes coins as the “studium.” In this case, Barthes argues that the power of photographs is strong even if the viewer is looking at a photograph of him or herself, a subject that is obviously familiar. It is an automatic time machine that the viewer can use to discover things about themselves that they forgot or never knew before.

Discussion Questions

Roland Barthes died in 1980, 7 years before the popular graphics editor Photoshop was released. How would Roland Barthes react to the usage of such a program to alter photographs? Does Photoshop enhance or take away from the essence of the original photograph? 

Barthes discusses time in various parts of his writing. How does Time relate to the noeme? What is the noeme in your own words?

Barthes discusses in extensive detail the significance of the studium and punctum in a photograph. Do you think that these concepts can be applied to other works of art, like cinematography or literature? Use an example to support your answer.

This is a European painting by Vasily Vereshchagin titled A Resting Place of Prisoners that I saw during the Night at the Brooklyn Museum. The piece grabbed my attention with the waves of wind that pick up the snow and thrust it at the prisoners. Also, the title is contradictory with what is happening in the painting; Vereshchagin describes the prisoners as “resting” even though it must take a strong mentality and many layers of clothing to brave the piercing cold that is depicted.

Part 1

“I decided then to take as a guide for my new analysis the attraction I felt for certain photographs. For of this attraction, at least, I was certain. What to call it? Fascination? No, this photograph which I pick out and which I love has nothing in common with the shiny point which sways before your eyes and makes your head swim; what it produces in me is the very opposite of hebetude; something more like an internal agitation, an excitement, a certain labor too, the pressure of the unspeakable which wants to be spoken. Well, then? Interest? Of brief duration; one can either desire the object, the landscape, the body it represents; or love or have loved the being it permits us to recognize; or be astonished by what one sees; or else admire or dispute the photographer’s performance, etc.; but these interests are slight, heterogeneous; a certain photograph can satisfy one of them and interest me slightly ;and if another photograph interest me powerfully, I should like to know what there is in it that sets me off. So it seemed that the best word to designate (temporarily) the attraction certain photographs exerted upon me was advenienceor even adventure.This picture advenes, that one doesn’t” (Barthes 19).

-Chapter 7 is from page 18-20

Roland Barthes on the first page of the novel explains that he desperately wanted to learn photography. Barthes breaks down the parts of photos into three categories: the operator, target, and spectator. In the seventh chapter Barthes focuses on the spectator. Barthes is curious about what his interest is called and why he is intrigued. Barthes decides to called his interest “advenience” or “adventure”. This chapter of Part 1 connected with me the most. As Barthes mentions I am surrounded by photography constantly. Sometimes I take notice of a photo and other times I pass right by. This chapter made me realize that I take notice of photography first then I look closer for details. Barthes uses an example from Sartre in which he explains that magazines and newspapers have photos but leave almost no impression on him. Barthes explains that photographs need to animate the viewer to create every adventure. This chapter was crucial to understanding the spectator. It was previously mentioned in chapter four but chapter 7 gave me clarity in the role the spectator has on a photo.

Part 2

“Something like an essence of the Photograph floated in this particular photograph. I therefore decided to “derive” all Photography (its “nature”) form the only photograph which assuredly existed for me, and to take it somehow as a guide for my last investigation. All the world’s photographs formed a Labyrinth. I knew that at the center of this Labyrinth I would find nothing but this sole picture, fulfilling Nietzsche’s prophecy: “A labyrinthine man never seeks the truth, but only his Ariadne.” The Winter Garden Photograph was my Ariadne, not because it would help me discover a secret thing (monster or treasure), but because it would tell me what constituted that thread which drew me toward Photography, I had understood that henceforth I must interrogate the evidence of Photography, not from the viewpoint of pleasure, but in relation to what we romantically call love and death. (I cannot reproduce the Winter Garden Photograph. It exists only for me. For you, it would be nothing but an indifferent picture, one of thousands manifestations of the “ordinary”; it cannot in any way constitute the visible object of science; it cannot establish an objectivity, in the positive sense of the term; at most it would interest your stadium: period, clothes, photogeny; but in it, for you, no wound)” (Barthes 73).

In chapter thirty Barthes explains the most valuable photo to him. He calls this photo the Winter Garden Photograph. Barthes was very close to his mother and when she passed away he was obviously heartbroken. In chapter twenty-nine he explained following her death he could do no more then wait for his inevitable death. Searching for a photograph that captured his mother’s essence Barthes came across the Winter Garden Photograph. Barthes explains finding this photo was similar to finding treasure. I chose this chapter because it shows how much the spectator can influence a photo. In my opinion the spectator is the most important part of a photo. Barthes explains that this photo would mean nothing to his audience but it means everything to him. The Winter Garden Photograph shows that one’s animation towards the photo affects the way one interprets a photo. Everyone is different and everyone can find different photos amazing or horrible.

Question

The three parts of a photo are the operator, target, and spectator which is the most important? Are they equal in importance? Explain the function of each part.

Part 1

I imagine (this is all I can do, since I am not a photographer) that the essential gesture of the Operator is to surprise something or someone (through the little hole of the camera), and that this gesture is, therefore, perfect when it is performed unbeknownst to the subject being photographed. From this gesture derive all photographs whose principle (or better, whose alibi) is “shock”; for the photographic “shock” (quite different from the punctum) consists less in traumatizing than in revealing what was so well hidden that the actor himself was unaware or unconscious of it. Hence a whole gamut of surprises” (as they are for me, the Spectator; but for the Photographer, these are so many “performances”). 

Page 32 ,Chapter 14

This passage interested me because Barthes explained how he views surprises in photography defines the performance of the operator. Barthes view that when an operator photographs the subject without the subject knowing; they have performed perfect photography. He explains the principle of “shock” in five different surprises. He mentions that the photograph must be rare, a stop in motion and time, prowess, uses of unusual techniques, and “lucky find”.  This part of the passage is crucial because it notes the element of history and the idea that the photograph won’t be seen again. The surprises that Barthes mention emphasized that a good photograph will need to be those that “normal eyes cannot arrest it (page 32). ” It captures a moment of time that stops the motion of time. The photograph must be immobilized as it depicts a rapid scene. Once a photograph is taken, it occurs in the past. He also mentions that a good photograph must be those that are “lucky find”. It is those that are not arranged or manipulated. It is important as it shows that the illustration of the photograph once occurred will no longer exist for another to copy.

Part 2

For once, photography gave me a sentiment as certain as remembrance, just as Proust experienced it one day when, meaning over to take off his boots, there suddenly came to him his grandmother’s true face, “whose living reality I was experiencing for the first time, in an involuntary and complete memory.” The unknown photographer of Chennevieres-sur-Marne had been the mediator of a truth, as much as Nadar making of his mother (or of his wife-no one knows for certain) one of the loveliest photographs in the world; he had produced a supererogatory photograph which contained more than what the technical being of photography can reasonably offer. Or again (for I am trying to express this truth) this Winter Garden Photograph was for me like the last music Schumann wrote before collapsing, that first Gesang der Friihe which accords with both my mother’s being and my grief at her death; I could not express this accord except by an infinite series of adjectives, which I omit, convinced however that this photograph collected all the possible predicates from which my mother’s being was constituted and whose suppression or partial alteration, conversely, had sent me back to these photographs of her which had left me so unsatisfied. These same photographs, which phenomenology would call “ordinary” objects, were merely analogical, provoking only her identity, not her truth; but the Winter Garden PhotOgraph was indeed essential, it achieved for me, utopically, the impossible science of the unique being.

– Page 70, Chapter 28

The passage adds to the theme of grief for Barthe’s mother. I chose this passage because it elaborates Barthe’s feelings towards his mother in this part of the book. He was looking at a photograph of his 5-year-old mother as it brings back memories. His mother is gone but photographs still exist. He missed his mother and looking back at the picture allows him to ” gradually [moved] back in time with her( page 67)”. This passage talks about how the photograph is able to the feeling of remembrance back to Barthes but he also realizes the reality that what is dead can not be turnback. Photographs can show her identity but do not help him feel her presence as she is already dead.

Part 3

How can the idea of photographs telling the truth about the past change as modern technology like photoshopping manipulates the truth?

Part 4

Meindert Hobbema,  Hamlet in the Wood, 1660-65