and developing a photograph, and the photographic object
itself. In the first case, what is emphasized is the operation
of photography, the process that Walter Benjamin called
“writing with light,” and the way it represents by capturing
what is in front of it—a capacity that distinguishes photography from any other form of artistic representation.
However, co-presence between photographer and object
does not mean objectivity. In his essay “Seeing Photographically,” Edward Weston wrote that the camera is an
instrument that allows the photographer to look into the
soul of the object and capture its true essence. The photographer’s contribution is the “clear insight that the beholder
may find the recreated image more real and comprehensible
than the actual object.”6 Photography is then that mechanism that allows for capturing what is in front of the
camera, turning it into a bi-dimensional representation, and
producing an image that allows us to see better and understand more deeply.
The second and very compelling aspect of photography
is the material reality of the printed image. In The Nature
of Photographs, Stephen Shore defines photography as, “in
most instances, a base of paper, plastic or metal that has been
coated with an emulsion of light-sensitive metallic salts.” 7
If the most basic definition of photography as an object
does not mention a reference to the camera it is because, as
the philosopher Hubert Damisch suggests, the magic of
photography resides in its capacity to forget, at least in
part, the very existence of the camera.8 Once the technology that made a photograph possible is forgotten, what is left
is a concrete, physical image subject to cultural and political interpretations. According to John Berger, “we think
of photographs as works of art, as evidence of a particular
truth, as likenesses, as new items. Every photograph is in
fact a means of testing, confirming and constructing a total
view of reality.” It is precisely the understanding of the
image as likeness that has traditionally lent the medium its
ideological capacity. For, as Berger notes, every image is “a
weapon which we can use and which can be used against
us.” 9
It is important to think of this double aspect—that is,
the notion that photography is both an idea and an object—
to better grasp the subtleties of the medium.10 It is partly
true that, while the idea of photography has changed with
technology, some elements remain constant. Even when
artists experiment with the medium, photography still
depends on co-presence: the camera and the object need to
be in the same place at the same time. It is true that images
can be manipulated to include something that was not there
(or to delete something that was), but this can on ly be done
through tricks that have always existed in photography
without altering its definition. Besides co-presence, photography still needs an optical apparatus, a platform to make
it visible (whether material, like paper or digital), and an
eye to appreciate it. Nevertheless, the relationship between
these two aspects has become troubled. What we see in
Apertura is a reflection on how the two aspects, the concept
of how photography works and the printed image, interfere
with each other, and redefine photography along the way.
Thinking of the photograph as an object—rather than
an idea or a practice—allows us to better reflect on its political function. The effectiveness of a given image depends
on its social life. Indeed, its meaning is largely determined
by the logic of its presentation, the associations suggested by contiguous images and by the way in which a given
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