The reflexology of photography
By kevin stewart
5 April 2008
Without vanity neither glory nor with intent to cause an eruption of applauses from the camp of feminist who have taught me a great deal from the lines of literature they produce. Line of literature about the depiction of women in photography and historic roles often assigned women in film, I write this sharing of thoughts on my photography. However I do wish to acknowledge the motivations that propelled me dig out and bring to the surface these thoughts. I am barely into it but I just began to read THE WOMEN'S COMPANION TO INTERNATIONAL FILM ed. Annette Kuhn with Susannah Radstone. While reading I begin to wonder if the work I post here makes me look sexist. And while I'm at it I cannot fail to mention an ever present influences from my readings of Bell Hooks. She encourages me to keep my cultural self intuned to my paterial instincts. Most of all, thanks to the Internet and to JPG for hosting this website. Here where others can see, I post my photographs and writing among thousands. I can, as I often do, sometimes several times a day, return, review and critique my own work. Undoubtedly the presence of female members also render my critiques to be motivated by some censor pressure. I wish to not offend women even as I celebrate my best. Not all men need to succumb to this imagined concern but photography when made public becomes as self-reflexsive as it already is self-referential. Indeed on the other side of my imagined moot of a world divided by gender, I expect it is often scorn that one gets when he writes about his maleness and how it informs him in the pursuits of his artistry. Let she that is without gender-bias cast the first stone.
As a photographer I employ numerous techniques. One of my most treasured is one that feminist point out as being part of male construct, a male fantasy. This ofcourse is Paternalistic/Voyeurism. For sure I employ voyeuristic techniques. Initially I thought this cute, I reasoned that I was merely utilizing architecture and shadows. I now suspect this point of view denotes power, albeit a secretive one. From the safe confines of secrecy hidden behind objects one can also be seen as piglet; an infantile suckling at the heels of women with power. He fears his subject and instead objectifes her. It feels good. This is no Freudian analysis, its fact. Helmut Newton mastered that kind of imagery. Speaking of that late great master, I marvel at his genus. But lets be clear. Caution is given to those who may dismiss this as the rant of an apologist. One could not be more wrong. I am not the one. While I bemoan my own discoveries I equally critique its extreme opposites. Let me share this: with the rapid feminizing of men underway, I gather we will see less of his brand of work in artistic circles. This is not new in the 20th century. Indeed such powerful women like Diane Vreeland employed Cecil Beaton over more masculine photographers.
Fashion photography I thought offered me a way into mainstream acceptance. As fluid as it is it's commercial guard dogs hold the untutored at bay. The standards are forever shifting but they always require a degree of internal censorship. I doubt my ability to master this. My paternal instincts suspect the maternal critique. I kick away at the suspect at being wrong. Although I have matured, I still remain outside in corridors of mainstream publications. Like an infant I roll my images back and forth submitting them here and there. Behind the glassed doors I see the shadows of the masters and editors. I stand ready at the threshold but there seldom do they answer at my knocks.
Photographers develop tough skins, Like my revisions here, I pry open my portfolio and search for evidence of growth. I look upon my body of work seeking to pull out those images where prurient interests outweigh others. Often I see why I have not yet earned my way in. My sexism is too grand. It is an ever-present struggle of mine. As I enjoy developing themes and watching models have fun during the making of images I am always careful to maintain professionalism. Still my end results allude to something more personal. Not necessarily bad but when I try to eradicate personal demons from my mind they still find a ghostly presence in my photography? I now understand that the themes themselves are often based upon my Western maleness. It is not that I try to be sexist. I am sexist. This is the community I live: Western man in his Art Photography at the dawning of a new age. A new age where there is an increasing presence of women in photography and the availability of feminist literature. This presence of others makes me think and rethink. They provide some with the tools to chisel away at a veil of ignorance. My internal eye has become sharpened.
Surely advertising, fashion and the areas we seek validation in rely heavily on unresolved and repressed male desires. Yet I feel unsure that this means broad acceptance of those who have always been unable to meet homogenous requirements. We still have work to do. Thanks to new avenues such as the Internet, independent films and more artistic fashion magazines, we still must allow ourselves to become the patient to our own creations. Our images can talk to us. Listen to the downbeats. Those who enjoy photographing women yet improving his humanity remain under attack from within. We need not ignore the feminist critique, we must read them and learn.
For those who feel threatened that the presence of women in photography dilutes a more male dominated playground, we may feel the urge to hide behind the walls of male dominance. We may hide our more purient images. Instead we should consult those we fear. This will help address a fear within. Afterall we will have editors like those here on JPG. Constantly removing images they themselves deem too prurient for acceptance. Thanks to them I am remined that those who build the stages also select the puppet masters. I must first master their accepted acts of illusion and see whats in it for me. Thanks to them and the women I read, I realize this gift is a stolen one. I stole it from the Gods. Now I marvel at it like a child. Unable to rid my self of selfish motivations, I often create my own purity and call it art. "Art" photography that relies on women can become the domain of those untutored in determination. It denote laziness for those who aspire to couch it in commercial. Commercialism and praise are not the upmost. I struggle to become a MAN and an artist. I accept challenge to improve.
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