Los Desastres de la Guerra: Framed Portraits of Framed Bodies

This   paper   attempts   at   a   loose   intersection   of   objects,   images   and   theories   that  intend  to  gloss  on  the  way  in  which  publics  apprehend  the  figure  of  the  refugee,   the   migrant,   the   exiled   -­‐   and   Hannah   Arendt   or   Edward   Said   must   be   recalled   and   their   distinction   between   these   categories   and   the   sense   of   belonging   provided   by   each  one  of  them  must  be  at  the  back  of  one’s  minds.  One  intends  to  briefly  analyse   the   ways   in   which   we   apprehend   grief   and   pain   and   how   empathy   is   established   -­‐   or   simply  set  aside  -­‐  by  recurring  to  a  metaphor  of  “framing”  applied  to  photography.   By  frame,  and  its  use  as  metaphor  throughout  the  paper,  one  is  reminded  of  mirrors,   of   photographs,   of   screens,   of   national   borders,   of   spaces   for   mapping,   for   exclusion   and  inclusion  of  certain  bodies,  both  aesthetically  and  physically,  in  the  ultimate  trial   of   humanity   itself,   of   what   Ian   Baucom   defines   in   “Spectres   of   the   Atlantic”   as   the   need  for  the  creation  of  “credibility  (…)  a  function  of  an  affective  capacity,  a  product   (…)  of  the  capacity  to  be  affected  by  events  and  to  testify  as  one  aggrieved  by  them”   (198).       The   metaphor   of   the   frame   chosen   to   articulate   the   disparate   images   presented  in  this  paper  is  drawn  from  Judith  Butler’s  latest  reflection  on  precarious   lives   and   grievable   bodies.   In   Frames   of   War,   Butler   writes   on   the   several   connotations  of  “framing”,  from  compromising  an  individual’s  innocence  to  the  set   of  rules  and  regulations  that  define  normativity  within  a  certain  society,  setting  what   must  be  included  or  left  out  of  representation.     Quoting  Butler,  and  this  must  be  at  the  back  of  one’s  minds  throughout  this   paper:   “A  picture  is  framed,  but  so  too  is  a  criminal  (by  the  police),  or  an  innocent   person   (by   someone   nefarious)   (…)   When   a   picture   is   framed,   any   number   of   ways   of   commenting   on   or   extending   the   picture   may   be   at   stake.   But   the   frame   tends   to   function,   even   in   a   minimalist   form,   as   an   editorial   embellishment   of   the   image   (…)   this   sense   that   the   frame   implicitly   guides   the  interpretation  has  some  resonance  with  the  idea  of  the  frame  as  a  false   accusation.  (...)  the  frame  never  quite  determined  precisely  what  it  is  we  see,   think,  recognize  and  apprehend.  Something  exceeds  the  frame  that  troubles   our   sense   in   reality;   in   other   words,   something   occurs   that   does   not   conform   to  our  established  understanding  of  things.”  (8,9).    

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In   The   Museum   of   Unconditional   Surrender,   Dubravka   Ugresic   describes   the   experience   of   migrants   and   exiled   individuals,   as   she   travels   through   space   and   time   without  moving  from  her  position  of  both  a  participant  and  a  spectator  in  Berlin,  a   strategic   setting   once   divided   where   the   metaphorical   and   physicals   boundaries   between   East   and   West   meet   -­‐   and   confront   each   other.   Her   definition   of   a   photograph,   in   itself   a   frame   drawn   using   Butler’s   boundaries,   will   underline   what   will   be   written   in   this   paper   regarding   the   gaze   upon   other   people’s   suffering   and   grief,   in   an   attempt   to   understand   the   surrounding   world   as   it   is   projected   into   screens  and  brought  close  to  home  by  media  and  networks.  Ugresic  writes:       “A   photograph   is   a   reduction   of   the   endless   and   unmanageable   world   to   a   little   rectangle.   A   photograph   is   our   measure   of   the   world.   A   photograph   is   also  a  memory.  Remembering  means  reducing  the  world  to  little  rectangles.   Arranging  the  little  rectangles  in  an  album  is  autobiography”  (Ugresic,  30).       As   Butler   claimed,   what   escapes   from   the   boundaries   of   the   frames   also   escapes   one’s   own   sense   of   reality.   In   order   to   make   sense   of   this   chaos,   we   take   photographs,   we   frame   the   world   into   small   narratives   that   are   somewhat   manageable  and  easy  to  grasp.  In  order  to  make  sense  of  someone  else’s  suffering  as   well   as   our   own,   we   look   at   other   people’s   representations,   in   an   often   failed   attempt   at   placing   oneself   within   the   same   limits   of   the   photographs   we   are   looking   at.  Moreover,  and  remembering  Susan  Sontag’s  Regarding  the  Pain  of  Others,  “[T]o   take   a   photograph   is   to   participate   in   another   person’s   (or   thing’s)   mortality,   vulnerability,   mutability.   Precisely   by   slicing   out   this   moment   and   freezing   it,   all   photographs   testify   to   time’s   relentless   melt”   (Sontag,   2008:   15).   This   need   for   empathy,  for  a  need  of  taking  part  in  someone  else’s  vulnerability,  has  been  put  into   practice   (or   put   to   the   test)   during   the   last   months   as   images   of   migrants   have   been   extensively   broadcasted,   over   shared,   lightly   consumed,   for   “the   Photograph   (…)   represents  that  very  subtle  moment  when  (…)  I  am  neither  subject  nor  object  but  a   subject   who   feels   he   is   becoming   an   object:   I   then   experience   a   micro-­‐version   of   death”   (Barthes,   14).   This   micro-­‐version   of   death   becomes   more   relevant   when   discussing  the  dangerous  crossing  of  the  Mediterranean  by  refugees  whose  images    

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are  often  the  only  proof  of  their  existence  when  perceived  by  “the  living  as  watching,   observing;  the  living  as  ‘spectators’  of  the  suffering  of  the  death  (…)  of  what  it  means   to  be  a  historical  spectator”  (243)  or  so  writes  Baucom  on  Adam  Smith’s  1759  text,   The   Theory   of   Moral   Sentiments.   We   are   a   part   of   an   era   in   which   swarms   of   images   overload   the   public   with   the   urgency   of   creating   empathy,   with   the   duty   to   take   action,   often   resulting   in   what   Sontag   refers   to   as   an   anaesthesia,   a   paralysis   of   action,  an  inability  to  clearly  see  each  image  as  an  individual  representation.     Goya’s   The   Disasters   of   War   were   produced   from   1810-­‐1820   and   these   80   frames   portrayed   the   causalities   of   the   conflict,   on   both   sides   of   the   barricade,   as   well   as   the   involvement   of   the   Spanish   civilians   to   protect   their   homes   -­‐   and   homeland.   Sontag   writes   expansively   on   Goya   and   their   goal   to   “awaken,   shock,   wound  the  viewer”,  as  “a  new  standard  for  responsiveness  to  suffering  enters  art  (…)   an  assault  on  the  sensibility  of  the  viewer”  (Sontag,  41).  To  move  from  Goya  to  Andy   Warhol’s   Pillows   seems   to   be   somewhat   far-­‐fetched   and   perhaps   senseless.   What   José   Esteban   Muñoz   writes   on   the   pillows   -­‐   or   clouds   -­‐   that   Warhol   flew   on   the   rooftop  of  his  factory  brings  together  the  frames  of  mirrors  and  the  frames  of  war  by   comparing   the   pillow   to   a   cloud   (and   one   is   directly   reminded   of   the   outsized   mushroom   that   was   drawn   upon   the   sky   by   the   atomic   bombs   dropped   over   Hiroshima   and   Nagazaki).   This   link   between   the   “clouds”   was   also   explored   by   the   exhibition   which   took   place   in   Serralves   last   June,   appropriately   named   “Sob   as   Nuvens:   da   Paranóia   ao   Sublime   Digital”   (Under   the   Clouds:   From   Paranoia   to   the   Digital  Sublime).  Such  has  been  at  the  back  of  one’s  mind  while  writing  this  paper:   the  metaphor  of  the  cloud  is  rather  productive  for  the  understanding  of  the  direction   of   this   paper,   of   the   link   between   atomic   clouds   and   today’s   iClouds,   of   the   annihilation  of  life  against  the  swarm  of  images  and  information  that  can  be  stored   and   shared   over   the   immaterialized   space   of   networks   and   contemporary   technological   warfare.   The   visitor   of   the   exhibition   was   forced   to   gaze   at   him   or   herself   while   looking   up   at   a   handful   of   Warhol’s   clouds,   placed   high   above   for   a   mirrored   and   distorted   multiplied   version   of   oneself.   Through   the   corridors   of   the   museum,   one   finds   replicas   of   the   mushroom   cloud,   from   General   Idea’s   pointillist   reproduction   that   can   only   be   apprehended   from   afar,   to   hyper   pixelized   versions   of   actual   footage   of   the   cloud,   to   Martha   Rosler’s   representation   of   the   “domestic    

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war”,  the  visitor  is  drawn  to  reflect  on  the  ever  evolving  aspect  of  war,  of  victims  of   conflict,   while   finding   him   or   herself   reflected   upon   panes   of   glass   or   silver   plastic   here  and  there.  Quoting  Muñoz:     I   would   add   the   silver   pillows   to   this   list   of   experiments   in   portraiture.   (...)   they   offer   museum   visitors   their   very   own   portraits   of   self   and   their   own   private   pools   of   contemplation,   thus   allowing   the   audience   to   enter   the   “stage”   themselves.   If   we   think   of   the   silver   pillows   as   they   float   in   the   museum   space   as   moving   pools   of   meditation   and   self-­‐contemplation,   we   begin   to   understand   that   they   also   serve   a   critical   function   because   they   invite  the  person  engaging  to  contemplate  self  and  perhaps  participate  in  a   self-­‐critique.   (...)   Seeing   oneself   in   the   moving   and   luminous   surface   of   the   pillow  is  to  see  oneself  in  a  different  life,  in  a  different  world.  (...)     Between   clouds   that   reflect   as   mirrors,   others   that   work   as   a   patina   of   smoke   and   others  that  are  networks  of  words,  images,  and  symbols,  one  attempts  at  finding  a   space  for  the  practice  of  subjectivity.  How  can  identity  be  performed  within  frames   that   distort,   multiply,   reproduce   or   annihilate?   How   to   frame   an   hyper   reality   that   is   constructed  of  wars  of  symbols  and  codes,  that  is  translated  into  images  that  rather   than   creating   empathy,   anesthetise,   through   a   “right   to   look”   that   “is   not   merely   about   seeing”,   that   “claims   autonomy,   not   individualism   or   voyeurism,   but   the   claim   to   a   political   subjectivity   and   collectively:   ‘the   right   to   look.   The   invention   of   the   other’”  (Mirzoeff,  473)?  One  must  go  back  to  Butler  and  her  question  of  who  has  the   right  to  be  grievable,  back  to  the  precarious  lives  that  permeate  screens  and  frames,   but   are   nowadays   left   outside   national   borders,   geographically   far   though   not   far   from  sight  -­‐  and  the  pornographic  depictions  of  drowned  children  and  overcrowded   boats   and   trains,   “the   appetite   for   pictures   showing   bodies   in   pain   is   a   keen,   almost,   as  the  desire  for  ones  that  show  bodies  naked”  (Sontag,  36).  Much  has  been  said  and   written   on   the   ethical   dimensions   of   representing   the   bodies   of   those   who   have   perished   due   to   wars   and   conflict   and   this   paper   does   not   intend   to   take   a   radical   stand   for   or   against   the   uses   of   media   when   it   comes   to   the   documentation   and   diffusion  of  these  photographic  frames.  If  on  the  one  hand  these  images  can  be  used    

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to  create  a  more  sensible  public  to  the  hardship  endured  by  the  subjects  who  must   flee   from   their   countries,   for   “when   there   are   photographs,   a   ‘war’   becomes   real”   (Sontag,  93),  the  constant  exposure  to  these  images  might  also  work  as  a  powerful   anaesthesia,   for   a   set   of   images   cannot   be   apprehended   in   the   same   way   that   a   single  one  can  and  W.J.T.  Mitchell  writes  on  the  contemporary  relevance  of  images   by  reflecting  on  their  “infectious,  viral  character  (…)  like  viruses  or  bacteria,  and  this   is   a   period   of   breakout,   a   global   plague   of   images   (…)   it   has   bread   a   host   of   antibodies  in  the  form  of  counterimages  (…)  a  war  of  images”  (2).     To  conclude,  one  goes  back  to  Sontag’s  Regarding  the  Pain  of  Others,  whose   cover  features  one  of  Goya’s  etchings,  and  her  thoughts  on  “our  situation”  in  which   “the  ultra  familiar,  ultra  celebrated  image  -­‐  of  an  agony,  of  ruin  -­‐  is  an  unavoidable   feature   of   our   camera-­‐mediated   knowledge   of   war”   (Sontag,   21).   As   Butler   points   out  regarding  framing,  and  one  understands  framing  as  either  the  physical  frame  of   a   photograph   or   the   political   and   social   categorizations   that   permeate   subjectivity,   “the   frame   through   which   we   apprehend   or,   indeed   fail   to   apprehend   the   live   of   others  as  lost  and  injured  (lose-­‐able  or  injurable)  are  politically  saturated.  They  are   themselves   operations   of   power”   (2)   or   as   Ugresic   wrote,   rectangles   of   several   worlds  defined  by  power  relations  and  the  external  norms  of  what  is  to  be  a  human,   capable   of   being   aprehended   -­‐   and   which   humans   are   worth   being   grievable   and   therefore  identified  with.     “Refugees  are  divided  into  two  categories:  those  who  have  photographs  and   those   who   have   none”,   writes   Ugresic.   Though   she   is   referring   to   the   photographs   that   the   migrants   carry   as   tokens   of   a   past   life,   as   frames   of   memories,   one   could   also   add   that   to   be   a   refugee   one   must   be   photographed   -­‐   and   other’s   pain   and   suffering  must  be  framed  so  that  they  can  exist.  Memory,  remembering  and  amnesia   seem   to   be   brought   into   question   for   these   accounts   created   by   framing   and   reframing  bodies  are  inevitably  fractions  of  the  world,  often  mistaken  as  truth.  To  go   back  to  Sontag,  “photographs  that  everyone  recognizes  are  now  a  constituent  part   of  what  a  society  chooses  to  think  about.  It  calls  these  ideas  “memories”,  and  that  is,   over   the   long   run,   a   fiction.   Strictly   speaking,   there   is   no   such   thing   as   collective   memory  -­‐  part  of  the  same  family  of  spurious  notions  as  collective  guilt  (…)  Collective   memory  is  not  a  remembering  but  a  stipulation  -­‐  that  this  is  important,  and  this  is    

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the  story  of  how  it  happened”  (76).  To  look  back  at  still  frames  of  bodies  in  motion   seems   not   to   be   the   adequate   response;   the   paralysis   provided   by   a   photograph   has   permeated   the   inability   to   move   of   the   responsive   public.   Instead   of   networks   of   images,   one   must   create   networks   of   social   interaction,   of   helping,   of   action,   frames   that   mirror   instead   of   frames   that   care   clouded,   neglecting   to   remember   the   somewhat   dated   but   still   pertinent   words   of   Kristeva   and   her   seminal   Strangers   to   Ourselves:     “Strangely,   the   foreigner   lives   within   us:   he   [sic]   is   the   hidden   face   of   our   identity,  the  space  that  wrecks  our  abode,  the  time  in  which  understanding   and   affinity   founder.   By   recognizing   him   within   ourselves,   we   are   spared   detesting  him  in  himself.  A  symptom  that  precisely  turns  ‘we’  into  a  problem,   perhaps  makes  it  impossible.  The  foreigner  comes  in  when  the  consciousness   of   my   difference   arises,   and   he   disappears   when   we   all   acknowledge   ourselves  as  foreigners,  unamenable  to  bonds  and  communities.”  (1)          

 

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