Chest Pains And Blurred Vision

Enter the Ghost

"... that something terrible is in every photograph:
the return of the dead."
Roland Barthes, Camera Lucida

Lewis Payne has died. Lewis Payne going to die. The photographic portrait, then, as the "crush of Time", as that space where "Time is stuck" in such a way that has already killed still has to go to die. The time of the portrait as a return, as the place of the spectral, as the showing of the dead in their non-death, then stopped and what happened to the unspeakable. Lewis Payne has died. Lewis Payne die on the gallows at the age of twenty years a July 7, 1865 that it always lies ahead. Alexander Gardner
take this image while Payne - hours earlier? "Days before? - Handcuffed expected time of execution. For Roland Barthes is the example, the "pure representation" of photographic noema , of \u200b\u200bthat "this has been" which is repeated until the inaudible after each shot. "This has been," this has given eyes in this interrupted time its gonna be a future that is now our past. But this future-past is precisely what is in the picture as it escaped. "Photography does not say (necessarily) what no longer, but only and no doubt what has been ." Lewis Payne
continues now and forever in your going to die so again tomorrow, as if not in his portrait would be future for him. Perhaps the warning, I might be thinking that it warns, and in his eyes, then I can afford to read the knowledge that every moment-every moment that time is atomized to ensure the camera, "every moment is denial of the possibility of death so that, in his not-be-future, he knows, Lewis Payne has been saved.

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The mask in the picture,

generally attributed to Abraham Lincoln that expression according to which, at a certain age every man has the face it deserves because it is what he himself has provided, the face that he has set. Refound the topic of the mask, this formulation is right to put us face to face with what is our responsibility to our gestures, our responsibility with this biography physiognomy expressed in our face as the memory of our successive mediations gesture designed to be enrolled in an environment at a gesturally human community itself mediated. From this angle I think the tradition of portrait photography and different techniques, by adding props to the human touch or explicitly run, try to evade this responsibility towards a photogenic here can be read as a loss of gestural memory.
In recognition of this responsibility as the subject of the portrait photograph identify the difference, for example, between a Disdéri and Nadar.

In 1963 Richard Avedon photograph CASBY William, "born a slave." I find it downright impossible to escape the vacuum of that expression, born a slave, escape the glass vacuum Likewise those eyes and in that failure, identify the correctness of the word of Roland Barthes in his saying that "the essence of Slavery is here laid bare "(Roland Barthes, Camera Lucida ). Slavery to be naked in his mask, its appearance as the memory of all the gestures of a slave, being born a slave, given once a face. The mention of the birth directs my attention to the accumulation of time which can be seen in the jaw, blows that fall curd. Then I remember that for Latinos the mask, person says the social role, to gestures that are required in the present society as free man or slave born, then too, points toward the gens , the lineage that enables them to one way or another presentation. William CASBY, injured his face, now appears as a mask even earlier, as a further memory deep, as the current manifestation of a charge or return to the act of the dead, lost lineage, names forgotten, old gestures of all slaves born.

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The Gleaners,

nobody talks about them, the discrete, those whose habits do not lend themselves to be monetized. No return for now to Bouvard and Pecuchet or Hanta, readers of strange races, because it seems that time brings the question of the survival of books and neglecting the fate of the reader. Yet still there, sometimes a few times, the reader is a figure of public . Were in that series of André Kertész taken in New York in 1974 and which indicates the possibility that some cults are spite of themselves, and Hanta-, as an inescapable imperative street that would lead to the piles of books evicted , with the drawers of bouquinistes , with shelves set, and standing in front of the old paper waiting to be told something from the stomach, a big YES! visceral, because these guys read the entrails. Maybe one day reach the book of death and then these bastards, they have not spent a nail in their culture, first made in August with both abandoned body and act followed, will go to hell forever. That day engulf one of the margins of the culture industry: the theme of gleaners of books will be considered settled.

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Europe, Ellis Island

was no longer Europe, it was still America. Or, if it were America, it was only in the form of anticipation of their needs, their fears encrypted twenty-nine questions - Whether a polygamist? Whether an Anarchist? Ever in prison or almhouse? - and a medical examination that could begin with careful observation of the decline of a gateway . A visual inspection and a few minutes before a naked body and the way back is written in chalk on the clothes: CT for trachoma, H for heart, K \u200b\u200bfor hernia, X for mental defect Suspected ...
Ellis Island was a frontier, the non-place where Europe came together to America, Europe feared the dispossessed who responded to the call released to the ocean - "Give me your tired, your poor, / Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free "- and an America for Europe and the fulfillment of the promise secular figure. A promise and reduced to mere chance as the game settled in one go.
Ellis Island was a threshold, the door to the Golden Door . On one side called Italians, Greeks, Irish, Russian or Polish, the other the voice of a Welcome to America was a United States citizen. Perec compared with the manufacturing process:

"At the end of the day, Ellis Island is not just a U.S. factory to a factory to process migrants immigrants to the American factory, as quickly and efficiently as industry Chicago butcher "

Georges Perec, Ellis Island

But along with the identification mechanism for the production of identity, together with the description of the human chain , slip on all accounts, also in that of Perec, the signs of the rite of passage: opening of the time, purifying last acquisition of a name. The old Europe that sanctifies doors and parties also met his death when American obligation to mark the cycles and changes.
Ellis Island is not Europe, is the limit. Not in our memory, but as our memory what he lacks, as the lost photos of the family album. It is the silence of those who did not pass, the display returned by a chalk mark too incriminating, of which twenty-nine questions were the timing of the confession. Europe is being defined from the outside as the home they can always ungrateful to die again weighed and anarchists.

- Whether a polygamist? Whether an Anarchist? Ever in prison or almhouse?
- Da, da, da ...