[Photo Left: Lisa James, Merced Sun-Star Virgin of Guadalupe appears in a stone. Photo Right: Dorothea Lange, Colonist to Alaska from Minnesota]
The northern Plains were drying up and blowing away. As successive plagues descended on the Dakotas, residents thought they might be witnessing the end of the world. The New York Times printed a photograph with a caption that could have run in The Onion: “Cattle Invade a State Capitol. A herd driven from the drought area
contentedly grazes on the Capitol grounds at Bismarck, N. D.” It provoked a storm of protest — first that the photo was faked, and then that its caption led to a false inference.
If one can imagine the political animosity that would have been
generated if, as part of the current stimulus package, President Obama
introduced a national documentary photography program, then it is
possible to understand the opposition that the F.S.A. faced. Fiscal
conservatives did not want to see their hard-earned tax dollars spent
on relief, let alone a government photography program, of all things.
And in Arthur Rothstein’s photograph of a sun-bleached cow skull,
Roosevelt’s opponents had found their proof of government waste,
duplicity and fraud.
Filmmaker Errol Morris continues his series about what contemporary observers can learn from the photography of the Great Depression.
What makes these accusations of photo-fakery utterly perverse is the
claim that they unfairly portrayed a drought. The photographs led the
viewer to infer that the Dakotas were experiencing a drought. But the
Dakotas were experiencing a drought. One of the worst droughts in American history. Was the real
issue that the cow had died of old age rather than drought? Or that the
cow skull had been moved less than 10 feet, as Rothstein later claimed?
Or had been moved at all? Or that multiple photographs had been taken?
Or was it merely an attempt to shift the nature of the debate from the
agricultural problems facing the country to an argument about
photography and propaganda?
What makes an image not true? When does an art-directed photo move from documentary art to propaganda? How does the viewer's suppositions about the reality portrayed affect the response to a photo?
The Virgin of Guadalupe appears in California orchard stones, turtle shells and burned pancakes because of what a person of faith perceives in some random arrangement of contrasting colors and shapes. Here, the photo is unvarnished representation — any meaning or trickery is all in the mind of the beholder.
The meaning and emotional content of Lange's photo of the Alaska-bound Minnesotan depend greatly on its artful lighting and composition — and also on its context — but not upon any information conveyed intrinsically within the frame.
Today, it seems evident that Lange's heroic images were carefully directed and shot. Surely no impoverished immigrant boarded a Depression-era steamship in such natty duds or paused so pensively before gaze-paralleling rivets. We could place him in GQ unretouched, and he could sell us every article of his clothing: the newsboy cap and the wool shirt with its collar jutting just so out of the stippled leather jacket. Instead of a young man heading for an uncertain future in Alaska, we might see a hunk who helped give Sarah Palin her accent.
The truth is that most images we see are manipulations — maybe not as fraudulent as the footage of the Boy in the Balloon — but altered all the same, with lighting, framing, lenses, wind machines, make up, point of view, safety pins, glycerine, PhotoShop, cropping, captions and editorial selection from perhaps hundreds of variations. Finally, these are submitted for examination through the filters of our own prejudices and desires.
A balloon goes aloft and transfixes a nation because of a made-up story. An unseen drought becomes real to the rest of the country because of a cow skull arranged in a landscape. A hog farm becomes a presidential ranch because a Texas front man puts on a cowboy hat.
Holy Virgin of Guadalupe, deliver us!
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