Articles & Short Essays

ARTICLES & SHORT ESSAYS

by Lisa Dal Lago

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Contents

SHORT ESSAYS 4

Robert Frank: Trolley - New Orleans

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Julia Margaret Cameron – Portrait of Charles Darwin

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Realism in Contemporary Photography - The Case of Blanco ARTICLES & Reviews

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David Lynch - The Factory Photographs Exhibition (a review)

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Tina Modotti: The Tension Between Photography And Politics in 20’s Mexico

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The Tempest After Julie Taymor: Shakespeare Across Genders

Robert Frank: Trolley - New Orleans In 1958 a volume called “Les Americains” was published in France by Robert Delpire: it was a small book of photographs taken by Swiss-born photographer Robert Frank over a four-year journey across America. In this first apparition, the images were coupled with texts by authors such as Faulkner, de Beauvoir and Steinbeck, resulting in a work of anthropological taste1. Shortly after, the series of photographs was released once again, this time in the US (under the title “The Americans”) with no text other than captions and an introduction by Jack Keurac.

Although in his preface Keurac described Frank as “Swiss, unobtrusive, nice, with that little camera that he raises and snaps with one hand he sucked a sad poem right out of the America onto film”, the critics were of a different opinion. After their publication, the images stirred many protests, as it is testified by a number of negative reviews. The critic Gilbert Millstein, who reviewed the book for the New York Times in 1960, considered Frank’s work as full of unsettling implications and “suggestive of latent violence”. Millstein also accused the photographer of “distaste and distrust for his subjects”2.

In truth, the book doesn’t aim at providing a celebratory view of America, and this certainly accounted for its initial difficulties. Robert Frank himself, though accustomed to the States and soon to gain American citizenship, had decided to tackle this project with the outlook of an outsider, a Swiss man adopted, like many, by the country of the free. He was deeply interested in making a multilayered and honest portrait of the US as it appeared to him. His approach didn’t stem from intellectual reasoning, rather more from intuition and emotion.

The editing of the pictures was a far more radical and strict process. Having shot more than six hundred rolls of film, he narrowed down his selection to the final eighty-three pictures. Some of these images have become extremely iconic, such as the one titled “Trolley- New Orleans”. On the surface the photograph stands as a political statement against black segregation, but looking more in depth into the book’s structure, one will understand that the connections are more complicated.

1 Ladd. J., (2012). Master of the Photobook: Robert Delpire’s Long and Legendary Influence [online] Time Lightbox. Available from: http://lightbox.time.com/2012/05/09/robert-delpire/#1 [Accessed January 2014] 2 Greenough, S., (2009). Looking in: Robert Frank’s The Americans. Washington: National Gallery of Art. p. 176

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The sequencing of the pictures is very important as they play on the ambiguity generated by a constant contrast between the subjects portrayed. The narrative is non-linear and it aims at visualising feelings, rather than generating judgements.

“Trolley - New Orleans” addresses two recurrent topics in the series, the (psychological) isolation and the act of observation. The physical segregation underlined by the window frames is yet another link to the sense of detachment that permeates many photographs. Similarly, the gaze of the subjects is troubled: the white passengers don’t interact with one another, just as much as the two people of colour remain anchored on their seats.

Considered in relation with the entire series, “Trolley - New Orleans” successfully describes the complex condition of a country, divided between the myth of “the American Dream” and far less uplifting realities.

Bibliography Frank, R., Keurac, J., (1960). The Americans. Grove Press Gasser, M., (1994). Zurich to New York. In: Greenough, S., Robert Frank: Moving Out. Washington: National Gallery of Art, pp. 40-50.

Greenough, S., (2009). Looking in: Robert Frank’s The Americans. Washington: National Gallery of Art. Ladd. J., (2012). Master of the Photobook: Robert Delpire’s Long and Legendary Influence [online] Time Lightbox. Available from: http://lightbox.time. com/2012/05/09/robert-delpire/#1 [Accessed January 2014] Lane, A., (2009). Road Show [online] The New Yorker. Available from: http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2009/09/14/090914fa_fact_lane [Accessed January 2014]

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Julia Margaret Cameron – Portrait of Charles Darwin The birth of photography in the 1830s was primarily a scientifc achievement, as it was the outcome of experiments carried out by different inventors in France and in the United Kingdom. Shortly after its invention many people were drawn to experiment with a medium that could produce images of reality of unprecedented fidelity.

With the increase of its popularity many questions arose as concerning the status of photography. Was it only a mere instrument for recording? Or could it lead to a new artistic language? The possibility of depicting objects and people as they were was extremely appealing, and in short many photographic studios opened.

The established style for portraits was that of a static, stiff pose captured with a sharp focus1.

Along with the professionals, many amateurs dedicated a conspicuous part of their life to the development of the photographic language. Julia Margaret Cameron was one of them, and later to be counted among the most eminent portrait photographers of her times. Mrs Cameron was adamant from the start that the new medium had an expressive potential which should be by all means exploited.

She lived herself in a fertile environment in terms of artistic and cultural influences.

Thanks to her high social status and connections, she had the necessary tools to document herself and experiment with the camera. In her circle of friends were numerous artists, scientists, writers who contributed to the formation of her unique style or alternatively posed for her. In one of her writings, Julia Margaret states her views on the making of portraits: “when I have had such men before my camera, my whole soul has endeavoured to do its duty towards them in recording faithfully the greatness of the inner as well as the features of the outer man”2.

In 1860, the photographer became the neighbour of Lord Alfred Tennyson, Poet Laureate for Queen Victoria. Tennyson’s home attracted many distinguished personalities, including Charles Darwin. Mrs Cameron’s portrait of the famous biologist was taken in 1868-9, when his theory on the evolution of the species had already gained him respect in the scientific community. The book also shook

1 Hacking, J., (2012). Photography – The Whole Story, Thames and Hudson, p. 10-11 2 Hopkinson, A., (1986). Julia Margaret Cameron, Virago Pioneers, p. 12

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long-established religious and social convictions3, just as photography questioned the status of art.

The picture shows the typical elements of Cameron’s style. As in all her pictures, the subject’s face takes the almost the entire frame. Following in the footsteps of the artist D.W. Wynfeld, she left many areas of the image out-of-focus, in order to highlight the essence of her subject. The shadows around Darwin’s eyes combined with a soft motion blur give him a sort of abstracted and absorbed look, as if he was gazing into another dimension. The pose recalls the paintings from the Italian Renaissance4 (see Domenico Ghirlandaio), as testimony of her wide cultural interests. As a whole, the image conveys the impression of a man fragile and imposing at the same time.

Cameron’s ability to capture her subjects inner character was noted by her contemporaries, as well as future photographers (including Imogen Cunningham).

Her style posed the basis for the so-called Pictorialism, marking her position as a pioneer in the field of photography.

Bibliography Bowler, P., (2003). Evolution: The History Of An Idea, University of California Press Ford, C., (2003). Julia Margaret Cameron 19thcentury Photographer Of Genius.

National Portrait Gallery Francis, K., (2007). Charles Darwin And The Origin Of Species. Greenwood Publishing Group Hacking, J., (2012). Photography – The Whole Story. Thames and Hudson Hopkinson, A., (1986). Julia Margaret Cameron. Virago Pioneers

3 Bowler, P., (2003). Evolution: The History Of An Idea, University of California Press, p. 1-2 4 Hopkinson, A., (1986). Julia Margaret Cameron, Virago Pioneers, p. 124-5

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Realism in contemporary photography - The Case of Blanco In 1938 Bertold Brecht wrote a short essay called “Popularity and Realism” where he discussed the urgency of working on a literature both realist and accessible to the masses. It was the time of Nazi dictatorship, when censorship forced writers to either emigrate or publish their works outside Germany. For the first time, the means of mass communication, like radio and cinema, were employed for one purpose: propaganda. It was right before the invasion of Poland and the beginning of the Second World War. It was a turning point in history, at the cost of millions of lives, destined to change the perception of ethics, society and mass communication.

Around this period photography imposed itself as the perfect medium to document very dramatic facts.

In the short essay, Brecht describes realism as the essential condition to achieve a literature that would be shared by the people. In the face of an oppressing ruling class, it was unavoidable to be realists, in other words to be truthful. To be effective, this message also needs an active recipient, that is the whole society, including the suffering people, the oppressed. The masses have to take on their own cultural identity and become actively involved in history and its evolution. Realism entails a deep understanding of the “causal complexes of society” (Brecht, 1938), so not to abide to established and oppressive conventions.

The goal is to offer the widest range of solutions to contemporary issues, therefore one must be able to alternate pragmatism to abstraction. As such, Realism is not a mere set of formal rules, but a concept that evolves with society: it has to be practiced in tune with the Zeitgeist. “We must not derive realism as such from particular existing works, but we shall use every means, old and new, tried and untried, derived from art and derived from other sources, to render reality to men in a form they can master … Our concept of realism must be wide and political, sovereign over all conventions” (Brecht, 1938).

The implication of all this, is that reality itself is not a fixed referent, it demands a constant research to work out the best modes for its depiction.

The question becomes increasingly difficult, if we consider that dealing with reality doesn’t necessarily entail only engaging with tangible objects. Every experience that we make leads to an emotional response on our part. There are a number of situations that can be felt, but cannot be seen.

Brecht’s ideas, though addressing literary works, has many points in common with any instance of visual representation, including the photojournalistic practice.

Photography is still suffering from the consolidated belief that its essence is that of a recording tool: “We are accustomed to seeing a painting in expressionist colours,

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but we think of photographs as being real and representational” (Ritchin, 1990, p. 35). If we briefly focus on paintings, we will notice how in the history of art there are numerous artworks that depict reality in a very literal way, just as much others aim at altering its perception altogether. We would never dare to say that Munch is any less a painter than Velasquez, or that Courbet is a more valuable and honest artist than Monet.

In regards to the Realist movement of the mid eighteenth century, it’s rather curious that Linda Nochlin, in her book “Realism”, deals with both Courbet’s work and that of the Impressionists, inscribing them into the Realist practice.

According to Nochlin, both the Realists and painters such as Degas, were interested in giving a faithful account of society, an honest insight of reality, especially those sides normally ignored by the public. And yet, visually, Un Enterrement à Ornans, could not be further away from Degas’ dancers. At my own risk I dare say that both of them are sincere and reliable representations of reality, with one difference: the Impressionists were capturing an experience, a tactile sensation, as if instead of only looking at a subject they were also living it. Both Courbet and the Impressionists were disregarded by the Institutions, and were labelled as disrespectful and unskilled respectively. What they were doing was carving a new role for painting, and demanding the right to work out a new visual solution to discuss the changing world in front of them.

The issue is very relevant to photojournalism today, especially in connection with technological advancements. The endless possibilities offered by digitalised media have altered the established balance between truth and photographic representation. The computer is a tool and as such it is also expression of the changes in society and our system of values. Modern technologies have brought the “you press the button, we do the rest” Kodak famous slogan to a whole new level.

If the analogue systems were reliable in so far that any change to the final photograph would be easily detectable, the digital media have radically changed our way of considering photographs. This change is usually accompanied by a sense of disbelief all round, as if the computer had destroyed the truth of the photographic image in one go. The digital era is forcing us to drive our attention away from the machine and focus on ourselves as authors1 and consumers.

The question of whether a picture is reliable or not, has never been bound to the means of its production, but to the circumstances and the mindset behind

1 Fred Ritchin shares a similar opinion to be found in “Photojournalism in the age of computers”. See: Ritchin, F., (1990). Photojournalism in the age of computers. In: Squiers, C., (ed.). The Critical Image. Bay Press, p. 36

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its creation. As public and as crafters of images we are asked to be alert and critical, to be informed more than ever on the processes related to the creation of photographs, all the way up to their diffusion. Images are neither honest nor dishonest, it is the relationship with their referent and the ethics of their author that can qualify them as such. As a matter of fact editing pictures was a common practice well before the diffusion of digital manipulation.

The notion that photographic truth is a myth, though consistent, should not lead us to absolute relativism. Reality is multifaceted and diverse, and this is never as apparent as when we try to represent it. Making a photographic piece about war or about motherhood cannot be approached in the same way, since the two topics are inherently different. The multiple types and modes of representation are no excuse to fall into the trap that everything -and nothing- is valid: the depiction of experiences is just another way to investigate and understand them. Because reality is one and also many, it is a simple consequence that there exist different modes of representation. The ethics and the purpose of those representations are accountable for their truth and reliability.

In the search for new ways of successfully communicating with the public, photojournalism has modelled part of its language on other artistic forms.

According to Allan Sekula, as soon as documentary is “recognised as art” (Sekula, 1979, p.173) the focus of evaluation shifts to subjectivity. As a consequence, this tendency prevents art from having any social relevance. The political level is neutralised in favour of aestheticised compassion. To be political, one requires a somewhat more clinical approach. The work must feature a sense of detachment and be devised as an act of thinking. This is after all, what Brecht achieved with his estrangement in theatre plays.

Nonetheless it’s worth noting that we are not dealing with an act of thinking as could be found in much contemporary art. This act of thinking is a discourse: it’s not trying to condense a concept, it’s trying to give it some sort of definition, in the same punctual way a dictionary would do. The political discourse over any photograph addresses both the author of that image, as well as its consumer.

In front of any subject we decide to portray, we are both viewers and active observers (active in the sense that we use our gaze as means for interpretation through the camera, leading to a tangible product, the photographic print).

From Sekula’s words we can understand how, all in all, the biggest enemy against a social use and making of a photograph is pity, compassion. In the end the only way to be political, to put it in very harsh terms, is to get rid of some feelings embedded in human nature, emotions that are actually very important.

We are now in front of the core of the subject matter, its most tangled point.

We are not really discussing compassion here, but ethics: we are dealing with the

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deep reasons why a photographer decides to tackle the documentary genre and with what set of mind. In order to be less radical in one’s thinking, the other possible solution to the case would be to suspend momentarily the process of assimilation of reality, to interrupt our personal elaboration, so to hand over the subject matter to the public as raw as possible. We should shoot at the same moment that surprise hits us, before we can numb the pain using the tools provided by aesthetic canons.

But this would be an intellectual assertion, apt at philosophizing about something that goes beyond mere rational logic. Every experience we make is intertwined with an emotional response on our part, there is no escaping from this. If our desire is to provide efficient communication, we need to find a better way of dealing with feelings, wanted and unwanted. What is needed is a logic that works within practice: an effective coordination of our minds with the emotions deriving from the experience of reality.

“Blanco” by Italian photographer Stefano De Luigi is a photographic project that provides a successful example of this. The series was born in a very particular context: the photographer was in India shooting on behalf of cbm (Christian Blind Mission). The goal was to produce images to inform the public on the living conditions of blind people. At that time he witnessed a little girl regaining her sight after a corneal transplantation [1]. The impact of that event was so strong on De Luigi2 that he felt compelled to start a very complex project on blindness around the world. For four years he committed himself to the making of “Blanco”, travelling everywhere in the world, including India, China, Africa and Bulgaria. Eventually his efforts led to an exhibition, a book and a multimedia production presented at the World Press Photo in 2011.

De Luigi did an extensive visual research on the topic, but ultimately he was very inspired by José Saramago and his novel called “Blind”. The title “Blanco” refers to Saramago’s association of blindness with the colour white. On this basis, the photographer worked his way through the incredible task of depicting the universe of the visual impaired. In the introduction to the book, Philippe Dagen describes De Luigi’s pictures as void of compassion (Dagen, 2010). He certainly doesn’t indulge in a romantic representation of suffering, none of those people are portrayed as martyrs. Their pain and uneasiness is real, so real to the point it is unbearable. In De Luigi there is a big concern, but it’s not the type of concern that leads to condescension. He arms himself with empathy, and he is always aware

2 See interview for the Italian newspaper “Il Sole 24 Ore”. De Medici, M., (2010). Blanco, 50 scatti per vedere oltre il buio [online] Il Sole 24 Ore. Available from: http://www.viaggi24.ilsole24ore.com/Rubriche/ Eventi/2010/10/blanco.php [accessed December 2013]

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that he cannot know the universe of these people: he acts animated by respect and humility. Throughout the series, the sense of tension is palpable, there is no space for rest or to neutralise our discomfort. The pictures dedicated to a Training Centre in Lithuania are a case in point. The child in the first shot is caught in the same position as when playing hide and seek, and yet the following image leaves no doubt: right at the end of that wall is the void, the terrifying space where there are no anchors.

In some consideration “Blanco” is a nightmare, a waking dream. This comparison is quite significant in the context of this work, because closing our eyes to sleep is the closer we will ever be to blindness. Though we cannot perceive anything around us other than our bed, we are immersed in our mind and our dreams, which are most certainly real. A visual example of this is the photograph portraying a woman during a medical examination in Thailand. The subject is completely detached from the space she is in, of which we have little if no information at all. What we are able to perceive, is her inner world, silent and imposing as it is.

Even when De Luigi is tackling a situation as aseptic as a laser operation in Peru, he manages to underline the cultural implications of sight in our world.

The eye in the screen is somewhat reminiscent of the orwellian Big Brother: nowhere like in our culture is the act of vision so strongly associated with the act of knowing and consequently, controlling reality. Discussing blindness using the photographic language is an incredible challenge: it forces the author to question the limitations of the visual. The photographer posed himself in a condition twice as hard: he set himself to deal with suffering and specifically with a handicap that’s hardly visible. De Luigi’s images show a very delicate subject matter in a detailed and multifaceted manner.

The choice of entering the Multimedia category of the World Press Photo is part of De Luigi’s commitment to portraying blindness in all of its shades.

As he stated in an interview the blind have their own ways of seeing and they have their own colours, though different from ours. The video was realised in collaboration with rat Creatives, a multimedia design studio based in Rome.

The goal was to offer a new interpretation of “Blanco”, through sound and vision.

If the world of the blind is characterised by the presence of all five senses, so has to be its representation. Consequently, De Luigi presented his project as an exhibition, a book and a multimedia production. He employed every means of communication that were available, in order to reach a wide range of public. His ethical use of representation had such resonance that the photographs received the patronage of VISION 2020, a global initiative that aims at stopping avoidable blindness.

In the face of an ever changing reality, it is important to investigate our world from different perspectives. If we want to be successful in our communication we

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must educate ourselves to be alert to the tangible, and receptive to the invisible.

We should keep a critical mind and face the limitations embedded within the photographic practice. In this way we can go beyond restrictions.

Realism leads us to the acceptance of an unresolvable equation: matching the rational with the irrational. To practice Realism and Truth one must embrace mystery and the invisible, as if they were as solid as rock. Realism is not to be found outside only, but also within ourselves and our motives. The social significance of any project is not only provided by the honesty of its content, it is the pursue of truth. It is the the journey towards this value that ultimately accounts for the political relevance of images.

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Bibliography Brecht, B., (1938). Popularity and Realism. [online] Available from: http://www. mariabuszek.com/kcai/Expressionism/Readings/BrechtPopReal.pdf [accessed December 2013] De Luigi, S., (2010). Blanco. Trolley Books De Luigi, S. Blanco [online] Available from: http://www.stefanodeluigi.com/index. php?/projects/blanco/ [accessed December 2013] De Medici, M., (2010). Blanco, 50 scatti per vedere oltre il buio [online] Il Sole 24 Ore. Available from: http://www.viaggi24.ilsole24ore.com/Rubriche/Eventi/2010/10/ blanco.php [accessed December 2013] Grundberg, A., (1990). Photography in the Age of Electronic Simulation. In: Crisis of The Real. Writings on Photography, 1974-1989. NY: Aperture.

Levi-Strauss, D., (2003). Between the Eyes; Essays on Photography and Politics.

Aperture Nochlin, L., (1990). Realism. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books Ritchin, F., (1990). Photojournalism in the Age of Computers. In: Squiers, C., (ed.)

The Critical Image. Bay Press Robins, K., (1996). The Virtual Unconscious in Postphotography. In: T. Druckrey (ed.)

Electronic Culture. Aperture Sekula, A., (1979). Dismantling Modernism, Reinventing Documentary. In: Dennett T., and Spence, J., (eds.) Photography/Politics. London: Photography Workshop Zizek, S., (1996). From Virtual Reality to the Virtualization of Reality. In: T. Druckrey (ed.) Electronic Culture. Aperture Witty, P., (2011). Fade To White, Blanco by Stefano De Luigi [online] Time Lightbox.

Available from: http://lightbox.time.com/2011/05/05/fade-to-white-blanco-bystefano-de-luigi/ [accessed December 2013] World Press Photo, (2011). Blanco [online] Available from: https://www. worldpressphoto.org/video/blanco#fullcontext [accessed December 2013] VII. Blanco by Stefano de Luigi. Available from: http://vimeo.com/69479089 [accessed December 2013] World Press Photo. Stefano de Luigi. Available from: http://vimeo.com/67517891 [accessed December 2013]

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DAVID LYNCH - THE FACTORY PHOTOGRAPHS EXHIBITION (a review) David Lynch is an American artist best known for his work as a director. His career is spread over the span of thirty years, in which he has created visionary and innovative motion pictures and television series like “Eraserhead”, “Inland Empire” and “Twin Peaks”. Lynch's style is unique in the way he shifts the boundaries between reality and fantasy and artfully plays with the fine line between the ordinary and the tension hidden behind it.

Outside his work in the film industry he also has skills in painting, furniture design, music and photography. Currently exhibited at the “Photographer's Gallery” in London, “The Factory Photographs” explore the world of decaying factories in different countries from the 1980s to the 2000s. The various black and white pictures are displayed throughout the room divided in sets tackling either details or wider shots of abandoned buildings or power plants.

Even though the factories portrayed are set in different countries, it's impossible to guess the urban context that surrounds them. Lynch's obsession with small details, makes for carefully composed pictures, aesthetically pleasing and subtly uneasy, yet they leave little trace in the viewer's imagination. The exhibition is accompanied by some background music from his “The Air is on Fire” record, which aims at giving a synaesthetic experience to the public. Nonetheless the sound succeeds only in adding to the feeling of discomfort that is conveyed by the empty chambers and the shattered glass.

Despite the look of a documentary piece, the “Factory Photographs” have very little in common with the genre. With the context omitted, the viewer is left with a series of gloomy pictures that are providing no real information other than how well lights and darks can play together on bricks and cement. Factories, plants and mills have been a favourite subject with photographers for many years, as early as Lewis Hine's series on child labour, passing by Gabriele Basilico's “Portraits of Factories” in 1970s Milan and the work of German architects Bernd and Hilla Becher on the typologies of industrial buildings.

Lynch's pictures neither offer a commentary on the changing of society nor have the statuary feel to them that elevated industrial architecture to a powerful testimony of human crafting abilities. No doubt, given the abundant coverage of the subject, a more innovative approach would have been needed to make it an interesting project altogether. The only reminder that we are looking at a material piece of Lynch's mind is the sense of tension and discomfort that permeates the whole series.

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Overall the “Factory Photographs� appear as a long catalogue of technically well- crafted images that act as set stills from a film we have already seen times before.

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Tina Modotti: the tension between photography and politics in 20’s Mexico The 1920s are a rather peculiar decade: it is set in-between two bloody world wars, and at the doorstep of a political and economic crisis that engulfed the globe. At the same time, it is a period of great cultural activity: even in Italy, cities such as Turin, Milan and Venice hosted circles of intellectuals and artists (both men and women) where arts, politics and music were at the centre of their debate.

Nonetheless, away from the big centres, the main concern was to make ends meet. For a young woman growing up in rural areas, arts, politics and emancipation might have seemed inaccessible worlds. It is in this context that I came across Tina Modotti, one among the first Italian and international photojournalists. Even after over 70 years from her passing, her work maintains a incredible resonance: Palazzo Madama in Turin is currently holding a rich retrospective, open until the 5th of October 2014.

Tina was born in 1896 in Udine, from a poor family with ties to the Socialist movement: her youth was marked by both the hardships of her social condition, as much as the sense of solidarity and rebellion embedded with it. In 1905, her father emigrated to the United States, while his daughter followed him to San Francisco only in 1913. The arrival to America marked a gradual but radical change in her existence: despite the difficulties, Tina never stopped dreaming of a different life.

In 1915, while visiting the “Pan-Pacific Exhibition” she met Roubaix de l’Abrie Richey (also known as Robo), a poet and a painter. Two years later, they married and moved to Los Angeles. The relationship with Robo opened a new phase for Modotti: she was introduced to his group of friends, composed of artists and intellectuals, which included the photographer Edward Weston. Weston played a very significant role in Tina’s life: through him, she discovered her passion - and her talent- for photography. They were very close to each other, both on a personal and a professional level. In August of 1923, a year after Robo’s death, Weston and Modotti travelled to Mexico together: there she started to practice photography with painstaking care, under Edward’s lead.

Modotti’s visual language presents connections with that of her mentor, yet it always retains its own identity. Weston is well known for his ability to turn simple objects into abstract compositions, in a manner that it is almost scientific. This taste for the essential is found in many images by the Italian photographer, in particular those taken at the beginning of her career: roses, glasses, drapes and bystanders at a circus show are portrayed in a crisp and neat style, excluding any unnecessary element. Nevertheless, none of her photographs seems to trap its subjects into

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statuary stillness: the natural subjects, the roses in particular, all maintain a sense of tangible softness.

Tina’s penchant for human subjects soon became a prominent part of her work, as much as it was tied to her political activity (in 1927 she signed up to the Mexican Communist party). Modotti’s sensitivity towards the human condition and the sufferance related to it, led her to portray both women and men with such passion to defy death itself. When her partner Mella was murdered, during the inner conflicts of Communism, she photographed him one last time on his deathbed. The young Cuban seems asleep, with a hint of a smile on his lips. At the same time, his closed eyelids and the slightly tense muscles suggest a restless slumber, a reminder of a far more dramatic reality.

The series about Mexican mothers and women testifies Tina’s ability of giving threedimensional depth to humanity. There is no trace whatsoever of the sugarcoated vision of motherhood, as it is traditionally depicted. The chubby child carried by the woman in the picture titled “Mother with child, Tehuantepec” does not look like a cherub, we cannot even see his face, actually. The composition highlights the muscles in the child’s small body as much as it underlines the woman’s effort in holding him up with one arm only. In one single picture Modotti reminds us that being a mother is a daily battle, especially when one is lacking money.

All the Mexican women captured by the photographer, offer a vision of humanity that is imbued with dignity, courage, even happiness, but also great fatigue. The young women in her images can be either serious or smiling, but they are never motionless figures to treat like a decorative piece: they are people who deserve the audience’s respect. Even when she focuses on men, the perspective is the same: men and women are all equally depicted with dignity, without recurring to any insipid stereotypes.

Modotti’s commitment to Communism in Mexico was shared by other artists she was friends with: among them there were activist painters such as Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera. Tina’s work was also published on a few magazines: New Masses, Mexican Folkways, Forma, El Machete. Two pictures on the covers of New Masses dated 1927 and 1928 show her political beliefs: in the first, we see two dusty and wrinkled hands resting on a shovel; in the second a hammer and a sickle lay crossed on a sombrero. This last picture is a clear testimony of the photographer’s ability to exploit the power of symbolic synthesis. These three objects are employed as elements of a metaphor, still they do not lose their connection with the physical reality. Modotti’s visual language was an active protagonist in the debate that existed in the world of photography at the time: she rejected the typical Pictoralist soft and ethereal pictures, in favour of clear and detailed shots, in other words realistic.

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During the 1930’s, the photographer abandoned her job, dedicating all of her time to the Party. With the outbreak of the war and the Nazi-fascist dictatorship at the head of the conflict, the situation became more and more critical, so that her involvement with Communism put her to the test.

The political commitment during war times can be a double edged sword: people and events, as if trapped in a web, find themselves progressively entangled in situations that are out of control. Underneath the dark shadow of ideologies, the protagonists of history become soldiers at the service of absolutism, where no space is left for inner conflicts. She was expelled from her beloved Mexico in 1930 where she managed to return only in 1939. Three years later she passed away.

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THE TEMPEST AFTER JULIE TAYMOR: SHAKESPEARE across GENDERS No author has had such a lasting impact on modern theatre as Shakespeare, his influence crossed the boundaries of England, reaching out to numerous other countries. While the classics are often material that generation after generation we are bound to go back to sooner or later in life, it is always a challenge to find a fresh approach to adapt the original text for the screen or the stage.

The existing versions are many and varied. Director Julie Taymor undertook task as she embarked on filming “The Tempest”, likely the last of the Shakespeare’s plays.

She is more famously known for Frida, a bio-pic about Mexican painter Frida Khalo.

“The Tempest” is most definitely a different type of material: it is a comedy, I should say bitter-sweet with dips into the nightmarish, recounting the story of the banished duke of Milan and his daughter, as they are living in shelter in a forgotten island.

Despite years having passed, the noble man is still looking for his revenge against the brother who nearly killed him and forced him to flee from his own castle.

When Taymor sat down deciding who should play the lead role she found herself a little at a loss: “I didn’t really have a male actor that excited me in mind, and yet there had been a couple of phenomenal females—Helen Mirren being one of them— who [made me think]: My God, does this play change? What happens if you make that role into a female role?” And so she did, she cast Helen Mirren as Prospera, and altered the original play a bare minimum to accommodate this modification (Prospera is the wife of the Duke, whose death occurs prematurely, yet not violently. The duchess is accused by her own brother to have killed her spouse with sorcery and is then forced to flee. After this point the story proceeds as in the original).

Mirren’s performance is brilliant, her gender doesn’t make Prospero/a sound odd.

The original duke in fact uttered words that made as much sense as in coming from a woman’s mouth. No fit of fury, no token of self-doubt, no display of affection toward the daughter sharing his fate was out of place. Prospera and the other characters relate to one another as peers, neither there are hints of affectation neither he/she ever seems too macho or too stupidly aggressive.

Angry and vengeful yes, but never the stereotypical man seeking to avenge his stolen manhood through ridiculous and trite proofs of valour. If any of this was in the play, Mirren as Prospera would have betrayed it.

Changing the gender of the main character has of course a certain impact on the relationship between the duchess and Miranda, being mother and daughter in this version. As fierce as she is, Prospera is also a loving parent who holds her daughter as her most precious treasure. When love enters in the figure of a young and handsome prince, the duchess displays more ambivalence than in the original

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Shakespearean text. She is of course wary of the intentions of this young suitor, but she is quick enough to recognise the amorous feelings her daughter harbours like something she might lived times before. While we hear Prospera speaking, we can also see how in-between lines there is a subtle sense of identification and understanding. She is protective, at moments a little belligerent, but she is more inclined to happily accept Miranda’s choice.

Even if it feels uncomfortable - though in earnest historically accurate - to see a parent give their child to her future husband, it is quite clear that it takes the form of a ritual: Miranda is eventually released and free to take charge of her life with a new companion. It is so much her decision that she was ready to outright do the servants’ job and carry heavy logs to be with the person who has captured her heart. She doesn’t sigh or swoons, nor she tries to be a lady fairy or a cross mistress.

Ferdinand in turn, loves her just as the kind, agile and wild goddess she is in his eyes.

The whole play is an ode to magic, dreams, nightmares, fools, slaves and gods. No role is obvious: each character is at the same time overbearing and overborne, every god is a fool and a slave, savages are as wild as noble men. Poetry can inhabit even the darkest hours. Every reality is an illusion and there is no rule that cannot ever be overthrown. After all, we are made of such stuff as dreams are made on...

Julie Taymor directs this film owning the original material, leaving us perfectly confused and lost in this fantasy world that resembles very much our own. As an extra treat, the end credits feature the final monologue of the play transformed into a mellow and moody rock song interpreted by Helen Mirren. Couldn’t ask for more.

References Shakespeare, W. (1610-1611). The Tempest [online] Available at: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/23042 Rayder, C., (2011). Director Julie Taymor Interview The Tempest. [online] Collider.

Available at: http://collider.com/julie-taymor-interview-the-tempest/

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