Chapter 4 of the Cotton speaks to photographing mundane, everyday objects that we might normally pass by, like my teapot that sits on the windowsill in my dorm room. The subject of photographing the mundane reminded me of Irving Penn and his idea that “photographing cake can be art,” speaking to the way we photograph images rather than what we photograph. An artist can capture anything and make it worthwhile or beautiful, regardless of whether they are photographing some sort of decisive moment or a simple piece of cake.
What I find most interesting about the type of still life photography shown in this chapter is the inclusion of a human element. The hint of a person having been there makes it human without people being in the photo. This photo of my mother’s Shabbat candlesticks, for example, doesn’t include her in any way. Not even so much as her hand appears in the image, but the candles have obviously been placed there and lit by a human being. It doesn’t say much about her precious Gary Rosenthal candlesticks (or how angry she was when she saw I had touched them), nor does it explain anything about why they are there or who they belong to. However, it does imply some sort of human presence, and from that the viewer can feel connected to it.
You don’t anything about the Device in the window – the thing that isn’t a teapot … that’s something that makes the picture extra interesting – the inclusion of a mysterious, but obviously functional object. Are “worthwhile or beautiful” the alternatives you make them out to be? I wrote down Cindy Sherman’s lines in my journal earlier this semester as a warning to myself: “It seems boring to me to pursue the typical idea of beauty, because that is the easiest and most obvious way to see the world. It’s more challenging to look at the other side.” Which, of course, you’ve done – but that also means that I’m not sure that “beautiful” may therefore be the best word.
Your mother suffers for your art…