The
day had started slowly. There was an imperceptible but yet present cloud cover,
very thin and even. The air was crisp, almost misty and already I felt I was
looking at a promising day. I was wandering in the heart of Belgrade enjoying
the beautiful historic buildings. The smell of the freshly roasted chestnuts
floating in the cold air gave me, for a brief moment, a very pleasurable
Proustian experience.
I
wanted to discover this city that was completely new to me. I was looking for
culinary findings, maybe visit something, and probably take some photos. I took
this picture: a gate. It is the entrance of the Belgrade Fortress, an
impressive military complex first developed around 3rd century BC. It has then
been extended, improved and fought over by many civilization, many times since
then. This masterpiece of military engineering does not leave anyone
indifferent.
So,
for no apparent reason, I took a picture and went on spending a few hours in
the city before catching a flight that would bring me home. This was a
transcontinental flight so I had a lot of forced free time on my hands. Aboard
the aircraft, I started to review my photo harvest of the day, sipping a gin as
we were flying over Ireland. A few photos, maybe ten, caught my eye. They just
stood out of the pack as it always happens.
I
say no reason, but one never takes a photo for no reason. This one photography
you are looking at was amongst them. It was not better framed, didn’t display
better lights nor exciting subject but I was captivated by this image. I could remembered everything about it: the
location, the misty air and the smell of roasted chestnut, everything excepted
why at that very moment, right there on the boundaries of the fortress I
decided to press the shutter. Had I ever knew known?
I
kept staring at this photo. The more I was looking at it, the more something
was bothering me. I could not figure out if it represented a place and time
filled with joy or hopelessness. I could not decide if the message I, or the
image, intended to convey was hope or despair.
The
light in the room is soft, I am sipping a beautiful whisky from North West of
Scotland. A live album of Stacey Kent is playing in the living room. I am home,
still looking at this same picture, and several questions are ineluctably
seeping into my mind.
The
first one: does it matter?
This
is probably the most fundamental question about this picture. Does it matter? I
am here, sitting on my chair, looking at a photo trying to understand all the
ins and outs, the whys and how’s.
What
if I was just trying to create meaning where there is none? Is there something
to understand here? Is it possible that we could just look at a photo and enjoy
the composition, the light, the texture of the materials and subject depicted
without thinking about meaning and the story of the picture? Would it be
ethically wrong not to go beyond the graphical aspect of an image and just take
it for what it is: an image? Even if the answer is yes. Even if we ought to
find the meaning, the origin, the conditions and reasons of the creation of a
picture, or any piece of art for that matter; even if...what if we are wrong
and construct an entire theory, build the wrong story and even worse, give a
meaning to art that is diametrically opposed to what the artist had in mind.
Prior to trying to answer this question, we must look at an underlying,
probably preceding question, a preconditional question: does an image, a
sculpture, have intrinsic meaning? If the answer to this question is no, then
there is no point wondering if it is worth and if it matters discovering that
meaning.
Does
it matter? I don't know but it's probably worth asking ourselves.
The
second: does this picture convey hope or despair?
Can
a photograph, in essence bear joy or sorrow? Of course I cannot. A photo, a
piece of music, a painting has not no more meaning than a log or a concrete
slab. The only fragments of meanings we see are the ones we project on its
surface. Our Fears, our hopes and desires give us the illusion we will find
meaning, an answer in various forms of expression.
When
I look at this picture, I see a gate, a door open to the light. Am I looking
forward to a better world, leaving the darkness of an inner prison, accessing
knowledge? Am I walking towards a brighter future and a more promising and
attractive land?
Or
maybe, I am looking back at a life that after all was not too bad. I look at
the happiness that was shedding light on my days. I am now heading towards a
darker place.
If
I had to answer our question, does it convey hope or despair, I would go with
the latter.
The
third and original: why did I take this photograph?
I
thought about this for a long time. I know that somewhere lies a reason. There
is always a reason. I can think of two: life and aesthetic. Maybe, this gate
unconsciously triggered something in my brain, a memory, an emotion. Or maybe
there is none of my personal background came into play. I just noticed an
interesting object, interacting in an aesthetic fashion with the light and
wanted to capture this sight to be able to enjoy it again in the future, which
is the primary purpose of photography.
