August Sander’s “People of the 20th Century”

August Sander’s “People of the 20th Century” is a collection of photos of a wide range of people from what looks to be the early 1900’s. The collection shows people from all walks of life, ages, and situations. In particular, an image of two males drew my attention. The two individuals, dressed in suits (complete with black ties and waistcoats), are certainly child-sized. The image stands out because despite their clearly small stature, it is hard to ascertain if they’re actually children or if they suffer from some form of dwarfism.  

Their age is difficult to determine because their faces have an unmistakable aged look to them. They possess the eyes of someone much older looking. When taking the time period into context, it wouldn’t be a stretch for two young boys to be dressed up as they are. Also, in the earl 1900’s childhood wasn’t a developed concept as it is today, so children would be expected to work as adults. The added stress of working could be responsible for the aged look the subjects of the image have.

It’s the many uncertainties that make the image so fascinating. The blurred background prevents any context, so we can only really see the two subjects. I’m left to wonder why they are dressed up, and what they could have done in their short lives that have aged their faces into adulthood. If they were already working, then they were likely poor, which raises another question as to how they afforded their clothing (which is relatively formal by today’s standards). Or could it be that they’re dressed normally for their time? It is simultaneously aggravating and fascinating that one image can spur so much wonder. The aggravation stems from the fact that the questions will remain unanswered, as there is likely no information on the subjects of the photo besides what you can see.  

Vivien Leigh places the Oscar she won for her role as Scarlett in Gone With The Wind on her mantlepiece at home, 1940.

 

 Vivien Leigh places the Oscar she won for her role as Scarlett in Gone With The Wind on her mantlepiece at home, 1940. Photographer Unknown.

In honor of the Oscars which aired the other night, I found a photo on TIME.com about the Academy Awards. The picture, which is captioned: “Vivien Leigh places the Oscar she won for her role as Scarlett in Gone With The Wind on her mantelpiece at home, 1940” immortalizes a moment from 75 years ago. In it, Vivien Leigh places her Oscar on top of a fireplace mantle in a messy and cluttered room. From a technical standpoint, the shadows of the room provide a nice contrast. Vivien Leigh, presumably still in her gown from the ceremony, glows.

                This picture appealed to me for several reasons.  The setup of the room seems so disconnected from what I would expect an Oscar-winner’s room to be like. Like my own desk, her table is covered with magazines. Her fireplace mantle has only a statue and a wobbly candle stick on it (before the Oscar is placed). The mantle itself is cracked and dimpled, both of which certainly don’t seem like a movie star would own. Lying next to the fireplace is some sort of pot, as if it were for cooking. Finally, the corner of the room has a couch (which would remind one of Freud’s) that is pushed to the side. Nothing about the room reminds me of a movie star’s house. In fact, the room is so unassuming that the Oscar, which is cinema’s highest achievement, seems like it is just some figurine being placed above the fireplace.

                What I liked most about this image was its timelessness. While the room seems out of place due to its lack of technology (today it would have a TV instead of a fireplace, and an iPad in place of the magazines), the Oscar provides a reminder of films permanence. Everything in that room could be gone or destroyed, but the work that the award commemorates will live on forever. Film does a beautiful job as preserving time. The image of the Oscar will always exist just as Gone with the Wind will always be remembered as one of the greatest films of all time. Once you take a look at the Academy Award in the photo, you can’t help but think of all that it will forever represent.

African American Photographers from the Daguerreian to the Digital Eras

Gettysburg High Water Point by: William Earle Williams

The “African American Photographers from the Daguerreian to the Digital Eras” gallery at Haverford College was filled with interesting and thought provoking images. Among them, I was immediately drawn to one in particular. The image, “Gettysburg High Water Point” by William Earle Williams stood out because it was a color print surround by black and white ones. It also gave me a feeling of calmness and serenity, which was counter intuitive to what the image actual depicts.

            In the image, there is a beautiful blue sky, a wall with cannons, and a marker with “South Carolina” written on it in a field. Technically, I enjoy the framing of the image, with the way the sky, wall, and field are divided. The focus is on the marker, and the cannons appear almost as silhouettes. At a glance, it appears to be some form of memorial, perhaps for those from South Carolina. The image begins to stand out when you focus on the Confederate flag implanted next to the marker.

            The presence of the flag completely changes the mood of the photo. You lose the sense of calmness that was once apparent. This battlefield marker doesn’t memorialize someone who died fighting as an American, but it immortalizes our darkest point in history. The realization that our country was once bitterly divided begins to set in. Furthermore, the “high-water point” at Gettysburg is the most northern point that the Confederates ever reached in the war. Symbolically and maybe even literally, it represents the closest America came to losing the Civil War.

            To me, it represents the idea of how things may not always be what they appear. A calm and sunny picture of a battlefield may represent something a lot more important to the history of America.

Sea Change by: Zoe Strauss

            Zoe Strauss’s “Sea Change” was a somber and pensive gallery. The title itself comes from an idiom coined by Shakespeare, which fittingly means “a change wrought by the sea”. The gallery itself depicts the aftermath of three disasters: Hurricane Katrina, the Deepwater Horizon oil spill, and Hurricane Sandy. The images showed numerous destroyed houses, wrecked cars, and the defeated look of those who lived near the areas affected.

            The gallery resonated on a personal level with me. I can vividly remember being “evacuated” from campus when Hurricane Sandy touched down in 2012. Going to my house in southern New Jersey seemed counterintuitive, but we were fortunately spared by the storm. I had only heard stories about the destruction that happened to the State’s prized shores.

Eventually, that following summer, a friend asked me to work with him at one of the shore towns that was hit hard by the storm. When we got to Long Beach Island as spa and pool repairmen, the town was still in shambles. I couldn’t believe that even months later, the hurricane’s damage was still apparent. I was horrified to see entire developments of houses that were literally only frames.

The gallery also captured the “Jersey pride” essence that I experienced during my time in LBI. In the gallery there were numerous road signs saying things like “Jersey Strong”, “This Is My Hometown”, or “No One Keeps Us Down”. Similar signs were posted all over the place in LBI. While I know I didn’t see the worst of what the hurricane did, the gallery reminded me of all the sad and somber feelings that I experienced during my time on the island. Personally, it gives me a sense of heightened respect for the ocean after seeing the “sea change” it can cause.

A swamped pool in LBI caused by Sandy. Image by Cody Long

Washington Gridlocked Again… By a Snowstorm, Thankfully -by:Jacquelyn Martin

Washington Gridlocked Again… By a Snowstorm, Thankfully -by:Jacquelyn Martin

 

 

                On the front page of TIME.com is an unfamiliar picture of a familiar building. The White House, the home of the president, is recognized by millions of Americans and likely billions around the world. Countless movies and TV shows have featured the building (often time depicting its abrupt destruction). The White House is truly a symbol of America and its government.

                Despite the inherent familiarity that is triggered by seeing or hearing about the White House, the photo has a sense of unfamiliarity ingrained within it. I’m used to seeing the building directly from the front or behind, so seeing it at an angle is different. Additionally, the typical picture of the building is taken during the day, so seeing it at night lit up gives it and almost iridescent glow. Finally, as the title suggests, it is snowing in the picture. Washington D.C is fairly south, so I’m sure snow is a rare sight. I’ve certainly never seen snow on the residence before.

                Technically, the photo frames the White House in the bottom right corner. While your eye is drawn to the building due to its glow, it still doesn’t feel like the focus of the picture. This is another reason why the picture gives a feeling of unfamiliarity; the White House is almost always the sole component of the image it is in. Instead, we see much of the lawn, massive trees, and a field of night sky. Additionally, the multicolored sky and blurred snow make it seem like this could be a long-exposure shot.  If it wasn’t for the title explicitly saying it is snowing, the sky could easily be filled with stars (that appear to move with a long exposure).

                Considering all of the image’s aspects together, the White House begins to feel like it is just a regular home. Its importance within the photograph is lessened. To me, the image depicts a beautiful image of snowfall at a house, rather than snow at the leader of the free-world’s residence. Within context of the title,  you remember just how important the “house” at the corner of the picture is.