I’m watching Beyond Borders*.
I can’t watch it and yet I must.
I feel photography—I mean taking pictures, is another drug that keeps me away from real life. Keeps me away from my anxiety and fear. Some time ago I thought only images of people are worth to take. The kind of photography that is tough for me. I tried it many times and I always felt I’m such an arrogant child—wanting to take one’s particular state of mind with me. Then leaving the human being behind. I felt like a collector of butterflies (and I was one long time ago)—I have them all and they can’t escape! They are still—but thanks to my skills they look alive. Beautifully frozen in a perfect high quality wooden frame. Mine! I made this! I!
Real life is not a perfect frame.
The world is not the word ‘I’.
Hunting for a picture is an act of desperation: I try to make my life meaningful. Did you notice? MY life. How I got to this point—to this egocentric lie?
I fear that maybe even photojournalism and social documentary photography is a vanity production for the creator and a cheap thrill for the appreciator: “What a balance of lights and shadows! What an outstanding composition! Such a powerful story! Poor men!”. And then a burgher goes to his cosy apartment. At first he feels agitated. Then he’s content. What an interesting exhibition it was.
Yes—even photojournalism and social documentary photography—they are both hypocritical unless they force you to ACT against or for something. Not to EMULATE a photographer.
Camera is a wall. It’s a curtain. It’s a weapon for the weak.
Then what is real life? It’s people. Real ones—not their IMAGOS.
Did you know the words ‘touch’ and ‘love’ have the same parent?
*Is it really impossible to make a serious film on a serious problem and not serving it as another Gone With The Wind? Did it really have to be such a shitty easy-swallow? I bet those who liked the film for its love theme are not interested at all in the subject of war refugees and didn’t even notice anything but hugs and kisses until the ending credits. The idea of smuggling any serious problem in a love affair cookie is fake! Also, it’s a shame how naive I am: when I saw that vulture waiting for the child’s death—I thought it will be a strong film… I should have remembered the list of dauby tricks.