LBR. Speaking of how viewers interpret photographs, Bénédicte, you were
recently involved, over social media, in a discussion surrounding a photograph taken in a shelter for elderly sex workers of a woman showering. Some people were wondering whether it was respectful to photograph her in such a situation. BD. I had the opportunity of doing a takeover of the Women
Photograph Instagram account, and thought I would share work from the project: the women of Casa Xochiquetzal. I posted nine images on the feed in total, opening with another portrait of Juanita. However, given the nature of the platform, some people who only saw that one photograph of her, and not the whole, limiting access to the whole context. Many disagreed with how she, a sex worker, was represented showering and questioned my position as a white photographer working with a vulnerable group of people. From there, they unfairly questioned my ethics based on their interpretation of how uncomfortable Juanita felt in front of the camera and assuming that I took that image with only the deliberate intent of furthering my career. I have a deep relationship with Juanita, as well as most of the women, social workers, and the director of the shelter. After taking the image in question, I showed it to Juanita and we discussed it. She fully agreed to having it published in print and on social media platforms. When I told her the comments that it generated online, she said,: “You can’t see nothing in that photo. I’m not even nude,” adding that she liked it and wanted a copy of it. I think there’s a fine line when thinking about representation and dignity. Our job, as photographers, is to show people’s reality honestly without the subject feeling demeaned or degraded. Juanita wasn’t uncomfortable in front of my camera. The image captures her emotions when she forgot my presence. Personally, I think, that’s really moving and telling. LBR. As the discussion unfolded online, I wondered how can a photograph
show the relationship between the photographer and the photographed, the process through which trust was built, or how those involved collaborated? BD. Intimacy is an indicator. You wouldn’t be able to get this close
to someone if you don’t spend time with them, if they don’t trust you. Still, there’s a lot the public will not know. For instance, with this series, I invited a therapist to come once a week, knowing that sharing their story might impact them psychologically. She would spend time talking with the women and conducting therapeutic workshops.
EB. Dignity, respect, or honour can be exuded through a
photograph, but there are limitations to our medium. So, we have to start thinking about other mediums which can assist in filling those gaps. It could be creating an installation, integrating video, audio or text, etc. It is difficult to show everything that went on behind the scenes in a single image. You can only hope, in the
18 photo ED
end, that the people in the photo felt respected in the process. AB. I relate to this comment
EVEN WHEN SOMEBODY ELSE ISN’T DICTATING THE PARAMETERS, I FIND MYSELF UNCONSCIOUSLY THINKING ABOUT WHAT I THINK PEOPLE MIGHT WANT TO SEE.”
about photography being a — Anastasia Taylor-Lind flawed medium. Photojournalism especially has a tendency of being a bit grandiose about what it is or what it can do. Acknowledging the limits of the literal box we’re in is much more honest and opens up the door to making better work. KS. I relate to that as well. When I show the large-scale tintype
portraits of Indigenous, POC, women, queer and non-binary people in galleries, I also include a voice recording of us. Often I feel that we’re neither seen nor heard. Therefore, using both visuals and audio provides visibility and voice. SM. One aspect that I found particularly frustrating over the
years, especially in documentary photography, is that the subjects are predominantly from disenfranchised communities. I believe that happens because they are “easier” to photograph. They’re easy prey. They have no defenses against the media. The middle class, who is hyperaware of the media, is much harder to access. So, we default to the “easier” targets and then use the veneer of dignity as a justification for picking on them. Embedding oneself within a community for any length of time and gaining someone’s trust doesn’t necessarily mean that you’re representing them with dignity. ATL. The opening paragraph of The Journalist and the Murderer
by Janet Malcom, can apply to photojournalism and any act of representation. It goes, “Every journalist who is not too stupid or too full of himself to notice what is going on knows that what he does is morally indefensible. He is a kind of confidence man, preying on people’s vanity, ignorance, or loneliness, gaining their trust and betraying them without remorse. Like the credulous widow who wakes up one day to find the charming young man and all her savings gone, so the consenting subject of a piece of nonfiction writing learns — when the article or book appears — his hard lesson. Journalists justify their treachery in various ways according to their temperaments. The more pompous talk about freedom of speech and ‘the public’s right to know’; the least talented talk about Art; the seemliest murmur about earning a living.” While it doesn’t entirely reflect my opinion on nonfiction storytelling, it’s a damning, but worth considering cynical perception of what I, we, do. AB. The quote that you just read had me wondering how everybody
justifies this practice. There is this undeniable strangeness about
