“The portrait-photograph is a closed field of forces. Four image-repertoires intersect here, oppose and distort each other. In front of the lens, I am at the same time: the one I think I am, the one I want others to think I am, the one the photographer thinks I am, and the one he [sic] makes use of to exhibit his art. In other words, a strange action: I do not stop imitating myself, and because of this, each time I am (or let myself be) photographed, I invariably suffer from a sensation of inauthenticity, sometimes of imposture (comparable to certain nightmares).” (Roland Barthes, ‘Camera Lucida’).
I was craning my neck, about to take a photo of this large scale portrait on the new 2 Line light rail platform, when a man walked up to me and said “that’s a good looking person—and she happens to be my daughter!”
I said something about the silvery appliqué and how he should tell her that it was nice to meet him, then waited until he boarded his train before taking the shot. x
“Sometimes I would mention this amazement, but since no one seemed to share it, nor even understand it (life consists of these little touches of solitude), I forgot about it.” (Roland Barthes, ‘Camera Lucida’)
Barthes had a very particular amazement in mind in this section of his famous book on photography, but I think his insight holds true for a wide array of solitudes. x
“Odd that no one has thought of the disturbance (to civilization) which this new action causes. I want a History of Looking. For the Photograph is the advent of myself as other: a cunning dissociation of consciousness from identity. Even odder: it was before Photography that men [sic] had the most to say about the vision of the double. Heautoscopy was compared with an hallucinosis; for centuries, this was a great mythic theme. But today it is as if we repressed the profound madness of Photography: it reminds us of its mythic heritage only by that faint uneasiness, which seizes me when I look at “myself” on a piece of paper.” (Roland Barthes, ‘Camera Lucida’) x