Vulnerability in photography:
I’ve been thinking about vulnerability a lot lately, specifically how scary it is. I often find myself feeling deeply, whether it be in my artworks, friendships or relationships but reluctant to share out of fear of the reception thereof. With the new year upon us, I wanted to challenge myself: to produce an artwork which transparently reflects me, and how I feel. Truthfully, I usually hide behind abstraction and take comfort in knowing that the viewer will never really know my intention behind the work. A blue mark to me, and a blue mark to you mean incredibly different things (a fact in itself which gives me relief). The act of seeing seems to be a simple task, however, being seen is a much harder feat. To be seen, to really be seen, in all of one's messy entirety is possibly one of the most daunting yet, deeply rewarding encounters of the human experience. And so I’ve been left pondering this question : Why is it so hard to be seen?
This level of intimacy and vulnerability, tends to be intangible to most. The mere thought leading one to close themselves off completely. For who would want to feel pain, heartbreak, sadness, shame, and fear? Processing difficult feelings seems to be a minefield, and struggling to navigate, we often opt out entirely. But, as hard as we try, there will always be a need for unconditional acceptance and belonging. We may try to escape it, and even be successful at this - but at what cost? Without meaningful connection, life turns grey. And sooner or later, you will come to realise that your numbness will not protect you, it will smother you.
To know vulnerability, we have to be truthful to others and most importantly to ourselves. We have to feel comfortable baring all (albeit terrifying). One of my favourite bell hooks quotes states “ We do not have to love. We choose love” (1999). This statement implies that we are foregrounded with choice. We can choose to be open, to feel, and to express raw vulnerability. And, for the sake of our own longevity, this should be a need, and not simply a want. But alas, it is a choice nevertheless. And so, to those who find this to be a difficult task: I implore you to find solace in art. Find comfort in experiencing vulnerability through the lens of another. After all, art is a refuge and more often than not, a commemoration for our own pain. And so, how is vulnerability portrayed in art? What type of viewing experience is carefully curated?
Katrien de Blauwer is a wonderful example of an artist who highlights the perception of authenticity within others as a stark contrast to the deep sense of curation we portray in ourselves. De Blauwer (1969) was born in the small provincial town of Ronse (Belgium). After a troubled childhood, She moved to Ghent at a young age to study painting. At a later age she began collecting, cutting and recycling images as therapeutic self investigation. The artist refers to herself as a "photographer without a camera". She collects and recycles pictures and photos from old magazines and papers. Her work is, at the same time, intimate, directly corresponding with our unconscious, and anonymous thanks to the use of found images and body parts that have been cut away. This way, her personal history becomes the history of everyone. The collage effects a kind of universalisation, emphasising the impossibility to identify with a single individual, yet allowing one to recognize oneself in the story. The artist becomes a neutral intermediary: without being the author of the photographs, she appropriates and integrates them into her own interior world, a world she’s revealing in third person.
Within artwork analysis, we cannot avoid the concept of the gaze. This constant surveillance/ awareness of female depiction instills certain biases. Can we substantiate these voyeuristic tendencies? Does it simply become about relating to our environment? Therefore, dismissing our subconscious desires? I believe both to be true. We have to ask ourselves about the role curiosity plays into it. Is the act of seeing seductive, visceral or discrete? What is our intention behind looking?
De Blauwer carefully curates her works, in ‘Fugue 4’, ‘I Close My Eyes, Then I drift Away 30’ and ‘When I Was a Boy’. The artist captures a fleeting sensitivity and delicacy within the subject matter. The intimacy of the works, simultaneously invites the viewer in, but also prompts a sense of unease, highlighting the ambiguity of desire. Should we be privy to such an intimate moment? The mere fact that we even ask ourselves this question showcases the success of the works. We are faced with a sheer beauty in the softness of the portrayal. The works do not demand your attention, they simply invite you in, quietly, seductively, and with grace. Lending one to enter into a still, contemplative state.
Compositionally, the works are framed in a way which highlights their subtle nuances yet, never allows us the full image. This dilemma is almost cheeky in itself, and acts as a sort of tête-à-tête. The relationship between what we see and what we know never seems to be in perfect unison.This sense of mystery and anonymity, prompts us to question the work and ourselves. This aspect of universalisation is what I believe makes the works so appealing. We are able to experience vulnerability through the safety of anonymity.
The poetics of attachment is a concept which I return to regularly within analysis, as I believe it is crucial when understanding subject matter portrayal. Attachment theory in its most basic definition is the psychological explanation for the emotional bonds and relationships between people. When we apply this theory to the arts; I tend to add a romanticised lens to the definition. And so, with this underpinning in mind, varying elements of De Blauwer's artworks are now heightened. The care, but also, contradictory sense of innocence leaves one to ponder the relationship presented before us. Is she a muse? A lover? Sister? A complete stranger? This prompts me to ponder on the question that has been plaguing me lately: when do we feel that we can be our most safe and vulnerable? In the arms of a lover? Or in fact, do we find refuge that intimacy shared with a stranger is less confrontational? Fundamentally, all social relations are transactional. And so, what do we give and take?
De Blauwer's collages have helped me work through this line of questioning by highlighting the power of vulnerability through a medium which prompts an open and honest debate. The portrayal thereof has inspired me to return to my own practice with a newfound sense of confidence, fragility and intrigue. And for that, I'm incredibly grateful towards the work.
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