From: Lukas Werth (lukas.werth@rz.hu-berlin.de)
Date: 09/19/01-05:40:22 AM Z
While I fully understand that one sometimes feels the insignificance of
one's personal activities in the face of such events as we are now
witnessing, I really don't think art is only an aesthetical exercise.
Political messages rather have long been an important aspect of art, and
what is more, they are also heard. Examples spring to mind from Dante's
"divine comedy" via Verdi's "Nambucco", many German painters of classical
modernity (George Grosz, Otto Dix, the Dada movement) to untold
photographers. Art does help to shape our perception of reality.
I also don't think that the particular possibilities of alternative
processes as individualist means of expression are irrelevant here. In
fact, as Pakistan appears in the world's headlines, and as last week's
events inevitably carry in their wake a rediscussion and reevaluation of
Muslim cultures and values, I begin to have a fresh look on my own
photography in Pakistan.
I feel there is a human element lacking in all the excitement and
saber-rattling in these days which I have at least tried to capture. But
the possibilities of art I have in mind, and the grief for the missing
human element for me are embodied best in an opportunity for a picture, or
some pictures, which I regretfully missed.
(As this post becomes personal and even more off-topic now, readers who are
in danger of falling into a coma should best stop here.)
On my last stay in Pakistan, I frequently passed by some slum settlements
of Afghan refugees between the cities of Islamabad and Rawalpindi. Once I
saw two boys on the roadside waiting for a hike: poor, unkempt, with sacks
over their shoulders, marking them as waste paper and rag gatherers, with
those caps marking them as Afghanis. I stopped, and within a few seconds, I
had seven or so excited children in my old jeep, smiling at me, asking me
in their broken Urdu where I would go. Originally they had intended just to
go one or two crossings further, but they were so excited when they
discovered I was a foreigner (I told them) that they wanted to come with me
all the way to my destination (a shrine).
They talked to me, and told me their stories and about their lives all the
way. On my arrival, I bought them some food (to be had cheaply there),
asked them to wash my car for which I would give them something, also to
have an eye on it, and went about my business. I took them back in the
evening, because they had no ideas of how to return. I have given the same
boys a lift on several later occasions, whenever I saw them again.
Although they lived in dire circumstances, for them Pakistan was a haven of
piece, savety and relative abundance. The elder ones had hair-raising
stories to tell, but they still had their hopes, reasons to laugh, and to
be happy about, for example, a free ride.
I apologize if this appears a little sentimental, but I see the same faces
in the TV in these days, thousands of innocent people driven by fear away
from their homes, from powerty to misery, and when I consider the
possibilities of a war, either as bombardments or on the ground, I ask
myself how many of them will be made victims - already are made, in fact.
Do their lives not count? Are they no persons, no individuals?
I have not made any pictures of those boys or their homes. It did occure to
me once when I was there, even to visit their homes, but I refrained for
several reasons, one being time, and they were not my topic. It is
sometimes not easy to photograph in such places, to make people co-operate,
and to prevent them from posing. But I now strongly regret this omission,
and feel I should have taken my 8x10 there also. It was, after all, all the
time in my car.
Lukas
At 20:44 17.09.01 -0700, you wrote:
>At 07:50 PM 09/17/2001 +0000, you wrote:
>>lva wrote:
>>>
>>>
>>> I guess that's why some of us are into art. It helps us to deal with the
>>> insanity all around us.
>>
>>
>>
>>On last Tuesday, I spent the afternoon photographing a row of pears in a
>>kitchen windowsill as I listened to unfolding events on the radio, and
>>on Wednesday I made a gum print from one of those negatives. It came out
>>lovely, golden-brown with a soft light, peaceful and quiet, but looking
>>at it I was almost overwhelmed with a sense of futility and despair,
>>thinking that art is simply irrelevant in a situation like this, and as
>>such has no power to console. I said as much to a friend online, and he
>>replied that he couldn't disagree more strongly, and added an excerpt
>>from Keats, which I pass on to to all of you:
>>
>>"A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
>>Its loveliness increases; it will never
>>Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
>>A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
>>Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
>>Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
>>A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
>>Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
>>Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
>>Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways
>>Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
>>Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
>>From our dark spirits."
>>
>>
>>Katharine Thayer
>>
> I wrote Kathrine off list to thank her for posting this but think I
>should do it here too. I've passed her post along to a non-photo friend who
>I think will also appreciate it.
>----
>Richard Knoppow
>Los Angeles, CA, USA
>dickburk@ix.netcom.com
>
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