There were a couple of interesting posts in July from Susana Raab and Joerg Colberg on the question of images (i.e., the photograph as it exists independent of the medium in which it is shown) versus prints (i.e., the photograph as print, or whatever, in the specific physical form in which one sees it).
Both Raab and Colberg express some degree of ambivalence, with which I agree. And of course, some photographs are more medium-independent than others, and will have both the same degree of impact and the same kind of impact no matter the form in which you see them. (Typically, these are images which are dominated by subject matter with an obvious and powerful emotional connection.)
The situation is complicated as well by the fact that some photographs have their canonical form in book reproductions, because they were photographed for the purpose of being included in books.
This was a major lightbulb moment for me when reading Japanese Photobooks of the 1960s and ’70s — when those photographs were printed, for the most part, the prints were strictly considered strictly an intermediate step in the book production process, sort of an interpositive, I guess.
And yet, it’s very hard to remember that fact when staring at a huge reproduction on a wall — and I have seen just that sort of display, with a barely noticed copy of Provoke or something under glass and a huge, technically fantastic, modern print of the same photograph up on the wall. A bit absurd, right?
And of course there are countless examples going the other way — of a photograph whose canonical form is a print, but which most people encounter by way of a crappy book reproduction. The situation is even more complex now, since we have to contend with scans and/or digitally recorded photographs being displayed online, versus their print versions, versus their book versions — and in many cases, there may be several of each category.
It’s not something I gave much thought to before I started making comparisons between versions; now it’s the one thing I always discuss when I’m talking or writing about a photograph which I happen to have seen in more than one medium.
I don’t want to get too hung up on fetishism over reproductions, and particularly over what is the “real” version of a photograph. While it’s not quite irrelevant, I do think it tends to sidetrack conversations, and it’s hardly ever the most important thing about a photograph. And if its the most important thing about a photograph, it’s probably a pretty bad sign. “Process just on it’s own lacks heart,” as Raab says.
There are cases where the difference really and truly matters. A case that is fresh on my mind is Nicholas Nixon’s photographs in New Topographics. I practically dismissed them out of hand when I saw them in book form — and aside from toning, those reproductions were quite faithful — but was forced to totally reconsider them when I saw them on a wall. It’s not a question of them being better or worse in quality; seeing them framed and on the wall (and cold-toned) made them mean something substantially different to me.
That’s the exception, of course. Most of the time, the difference between one version and another will influence the degree of my enjoyment, but not the nature of my understanding, of the photograph.
Still, I do think it’s important to talk about those differences whenever I am aware of them, not because they’re always important, but because most people don’t see most photographs in more than one form. Most people, even if they’re aware enough of the medium to understand that the version they’re seeing is not the only one, will not be able to accurately deduce what the nature and extent of the difference will be between the version they see and the versions they do not.
So, if I can provide people with some insight into the nature and extent of the difference, I do so. I suspect that in some cases, that may be the most important contribution I have to offer to a discussion — particularly when the person I’m talking to does not and may never have physical access to a print that I was lucky enough to see, or cannot afford to buy a photobook that I happen to own. (Please excuse me if that sounds condescending — I’m certainly no art mogul, and the Bay Area has nothing on New York when it comes to this sort of thing, but compared to folks in some parts of the world, I’m drowning in cultural riches when it comes to photography.)
