On why I don’t like my photographs until I destroy them.


When you think photographer, you think ofsomeone who photographs things. Objects outside of the camera are capture as a souvenir of the moment, or to display a cliche commentary on how beautiful ugly or some other overdone concept. I don’t get on with that kind of photography. Dead things aren’t any cooler than live things unless you’re twelve and if you’ve shot senior portraits for your neighbour’s kid on your vintage minolta then you officially get written out of the grand livre de photographie. My point is that, much like in cinema, the narrative is superficial. When I shoot, I don’t set up for a story to be told, or for a point to be made. Rather, I shoot so that I may have images to destroy.

I hate the photo above, and any photographer would agree that it isn’t interesting, nor significant. But that is the key to what I want to convey in my work. A photograph should be more than a display of content. But how do you show a photo for what it is when your viewer simply looks at what it is you have photographed?

You take it away! Defile the image, destroy! Destroy! The image above may be meaningless now. A set of legs. A hand. But tomorrow I will take that little 35mm piece of plastic and scratch at it. And stain it. And bleach it. Then I print it. Then bleach the print. Maybe wash it with sand. The possibilities are endless. Thus, the image is endless. What will be left might be reminiscent of it’s previous form, but only to me and even I will forget how it once looked. Time will take it’s toll on my print and the process will be continued.

As the viewer struggles to see what image the paper contains, they will only feel tension at having nothing to rest their eyes on. The stains and scars will cover the image, and all that can be left is to realize the photograph as a piece of paper, fallible and fragile.




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