Task 6 - Influential Artist Comparative Analysis
Daisuke Yokota - Nocturnes
“If you look at music or film, there is time there. In other words, the work has a clear beginning and end, and in between, you shut out your daily life—you throw yourself into the work. There’s no element of duration to your experience of a photograph; it’s closer to an object. - Daisuke Yokota
I admire Yokota for his thoughts and considerations on the act of memory and the relevant substance of time. His overall belief is that, as we all know, memory fades as time passes by. He focuses on trying to highlight the parts of our memories that we remember for good reason, and does not worry about remembering the rest as it must not be “important” if we forget it so readily. He discovered this whilst developing a huge amount of film from past years of his life whilst bedbound sick. He realised what he could and couldn’t bring to mind and recognise, and wondered why.
Through his unconventional development methods, Yokota almost brings a sense of loss to these images through heavy visual effects which “spoil” the images and obscure the details from our view. Overexposure, dust, grain and huge negative spaces make the shoots feel as alien to us as his memories are to him.
I choose to compare this “wrong” presentation with two of my colour film shoots.
These images share a visual uncertainty with Yokota’s; a knowledge that this is not how the events actually looked, but this is the only way we can “see” them now. This is how memories work. One cannot remember every word said in a day of their life, but main events and faces can be recalled in time. The accidental effects applied confuse the mind and make me actually doubt the honesty of the shots. Just as I doubt my own memory. It’d be interesting to show these shots to the subjects they display and see what they have to say about the images, but I’m afraid they are dust in the wind by now.
The fact that neither Yokota’s nor my visual “faults” were intentional is an amazing coincidence.
The difference holds between our work that Yokota’s memories are faded by time, whereas I never had the memory of my events that he did, thanks to ancillary features such as underage drinking and an unfortunate general disregard for attentiveness. I want to feel this devalues my work in comparison for shame if nothing else, but we both went through the same process of discovering our own memories, and through a lens of distortion we didn’t expect to have. An audience will never have the same experience I have when looking at there, I realise that, but if I felt something whilst looking at Yokota’s images, surely others can feel something upon seeing mine too?
So does colour make a difference? Yokota’s images were never taken in colour and the lack thereof, as I have previously suggested, builds up this sense of timelessness and a certain separation from reality because I will ever see the “present” world this way (chances of onset colourblindness aside). Having desaturated them now, I don’t feel any more endeared to the memories, but rather distanced. I don’t like it. I think perhaps because my images are more lively and friendly than Yokota’s they suit colour more, or perhaps it is because his look more authentically aged, mine are a little too clean. Either way, if I am struggling to connect to the images, the audience has little hope so I definitely want these shots to be in colour. This is strange, as I prefer all of my other work to be in black and white for the very “memorial” effect that I am trying to achieve with these photos, but it just doesn’t work with these images.
Memorial is the most practical use I can think of for photography, unless you count inflection as practical which, really, you should. Somehow Yokota has shown me that by obscuring a memory, you can actually make it more beautiful. The fact that you now have to put personal effort into decoding the images that paint the trail of your life brings hints of conversations and laughs and girls and memories that you would have otherwise filed away forever. Our images do not explicitly state what has happened, but they come so close that they allow the mind to discover those facts for itself. They are but a spark.
Anthony Kurtz - Craft Masters
I would like to expand on why I prefer my working spaces work to that of Anthony Kurtz.
Kurtz’s images are far better taken than my own. I realise that. They are better lit, composed, and shot and thereby give a much clearer image of their subjects. Too clear, I think. Would you rather have a super high resolution photo of your face or a fine oil portrait? Through their super-reality, Kurtz’s images show a little too much detail. One of my favourite things about my work was how a lot of the shot was left to the imagination. In relation to my ideas about memory, they gave memories space to grow and spaces for those memories to fill. I loved the idea that my images would mean something different to someone who knew their environments than they would to a total stranger. This value is only possible because they look “realistic”. They are not studio lit. I did not use a tripod. They look as they would look to an (albeit colourblind) onlooker who actually occupies the spaces they detail. I think that’s important.
Having this comparison between mine and Kurtz’s work has shown me what I love about my images. Because they explore such similar spaces, ancillary factors such as difference of meaning can be removed and a direct comparison can be drawn on specifically our techniques.
So why does taking a worse photo make a better photo? If that’s what I’m saying here? Sure, it may well just be some self-congratulatory excuse that “hey you don’t need to put effort in”. Do I put effort in? Should I put effort in? I think I do absolutely because hey otherwise the images wouldn’t get made or be relevant to my ideas, but Kurtz definitely invests more time. His work has told me that I’m interested in honest and easy photography, not framing the perfect shot. And I’ve realised that this is okay. Art is a funny thing in that usually taking the “easy” way often results in the best work. The best music, the best sculpture, the best photographs. Then again, who am I to say what’s best for a subjective topic?
Technique aside, the main difference between our images is that Kurtz’s subjects are these craftspeople, where mine are their environments. On a presentational scale, this means that Kurtz’s images are instantly more eyecatching (that and from their vivid colours) and can stand alone. I think my photos would have to be presented in series to hold any meaning as each of them only constitutes a part of an idea. If I am to be documenting an environment alone then the full outcome would need to detail different interconnected parts of it to show as much personality as actually featuring a person would.
So what have I learnt from studying his work? Perfection does not bring meaning. Aesthetics do not bring meaning. Not to me, at least. Having seen such well constructed work on a similar subject matter to my own has shown me that I don’t want to try too hard. That sounds like a cop out. I want to put effort and thought into my work, but I don’t want to feel bad if every shot doesn’t take an hour to capture. The less I worry about my images being correct, the closer I can get to true expression and honest image making. Which has been my objective all along, hasn’t it?
Ellen Rogers - Indirection
I don’t want to repeat myself here.
Rogers very clearly has a deep personal connection with her shoots and the subjects within. The locations, the setting and the muses all seem to fit together so specifically and clearly that it’s clear there is more going on that she doesn’t share with the world. Her fashion photography is beautiful, but not of interest to me specifically. I want to talk about the connection that one can see in her work.
I have never so much as attempted to try and recreate any of Rogers’ shooting ideas, but I feel that I can at least try to understand the relationship she shares with her subjects. Because Rogers at least seems to know the people she photographs, the images depict not only those people, but the way she feels towards them. The feature of occasional direct address show how they feel towards her and her work, and I feel this is certainly comprehensible, though I’ve never explicitly tried to do it myself.
Another common feature of Rogers’ work is the way she “half depicts” things. This is especially prevalent in “For Iain”.
Narrow lenses, strange angles and negative space leave the audience feeling there should be something more in these images. I know I’ve said this before but I realise that I somewhat do the same in my work.
This almost perverse act of looking on without full explanation means that our work shares themes of mystery and some hidden deeper meaning. Photography’s about observation, right? Rogers has shown me that it’s okay to be aware of that sense of observation. I’m all for images that present the lens as an invisible force, but if subjects are shown to be aware of the photographer and, in conjunction, audience then it makes the viewing of such an image a cooperative experience. It’s one thing for someone to say that a picture reminded them of something, but if the picture looks back, it can ask them something instead of just suggesting it.
My work differs from Rogers’ in that I am focusing on the “background” of these locations, whereas in most of her work she focuses on how her subjects react to them. Although her images are “constructed” with specific outfits and locations, they differ to, say, Kurtz in that they still feel genuine. The aged outfits suit the aged locations suit the aged lomography. Kurtz blends very clean photography with working environments, elements which clash together and feel, to me at least, unnatural and strange. Not in a good way. Rogers manages to suit her techniques to her subject matter, and I feel that I have done similarly at least to the extent of “cleanliness”.
Kikiji Kawada?
/WIP/