Untitled (India, 2011) – My own photo

ankyuk
Untitled
2011

© ankyuk

All the stories that live in one moment come alive here. The punctum is easy to spot: the woman on the right leaning backwards and supporting the small of her back: a back-breaking work finished? Did she have to haul in water from somewhere far in this water-parched region? The studium is in the details: zoom in and there's "millet" on the bag of grains; regardless of the extent and degree to which English is understood, even if not at all understood, a scrap of English is present everywhere in any Indian's life. The woman sitting there is still brushing her teeth; looks she is also taking rest from the work that began at dawn. It is only the second woman who has started something anew: rinsing the big pot with sand, so that soon as the noon arrives, the women get busy in cooking food. And the unfinished brick wall? Will that be man's preserve?

The Steerage (1907) by Alfred Stieglitz

Alfred Stieglitz
The Steerage
1907

At the very left of the photo, there's an attractive, confident, young woman standing very close to what looks like her mother - probably both are searching for a new life, for a new land, maybe moving to America. The girl has nothing, but is confident - the mother droops all her shoulders on her daughter. What's the girl going to do? And an attractive, poor girl? I doubt she's educated much. America? Will she become just a prostitute, finally? Or, is she clever, resourceful? Even in shame, she finds her way up? Or is this photo the only brush of awareness of her existence that the world can have?

Wandering Violinist (1921) by André Kertész

Andre Kertesz
Wandering Violinist, Abony, Hungary
1921

© The Estate of André Kertész

Scan courtesy of Masters of Photography

This photo is full of studium - full of pathos. I wouldn't have thought I would have found anything in this one - anything which would make me think on somethings on my coffee, long after I finish writing this up. But, it has! Might be very much accidental, this punctum - as most are; but, it's something which has always troubled me probably the most. There used to be a character, a boy, in one of the novels by Dostoyevsky, who never could quite come to terms with his father's public humiliation (well, I think it was The Brothers Karamazov, for I distinctly remember Alyosha making friends with the boy's mates), a boy who took it so much to the heart that he finally died.
The line left by some car on that dirt road! A car, since I see a parallel line to the background of the photo! But, the line - oh, the heart bleeds. The father (I suppose him so) is over the line, but the boy ain't yet. The father is leading, very reluctantly and very ashamedly, his boy to cross that line, and the boy has no choice - his father has already done so, does anything else matter?

Feeding the Ducks (1924) by André Kertész

Andre Kertesz
Feeding the Ducks in the Late Afternoon
Tisza Szalka
1924

© The Estate of André Kertész

Scan courtesy of Masters of Photography

Why doesn't anyone want to be photographed here? The ducks have turned their backs, the woman sitting has a reluctant smile on her face, and there's a younger woman on the right in the photo, completely enveloped in the shadow of the housewall and the tree. What secret is there in the lives of these people which casts strange shadows and makes the woman's hands, disengaged with a bowl, look sinister?

Little Italy (1955) by William Klein

William Klein
Gun 2, Little Italy
1955

© William Klein
Scan courtesy of Masters of Photography

It's simply the boy who interests me here - the boy to the left of the photo, the foreground of the photo. He is so much loving to be clicked, and he presents such a warm smile and warm eyes. Who would not like to befriend him? I would so much like to play with him - I would like to be a boy and run on the beach with him, would love to sleep at his house (what kind of parents and house does he have? I would like to know his grandparents, and sleep at his place listening to stories from his grandmother), and I would like to talk girls with him - both of us growing up together, exploring this world of shades, which are all not reproducible, definitely not in a photo.Did he live (or is he living) the happy life that he so much anticipates in the photo?

Sixth Avenue (1959) by André Kertész

Andre Kertesz
Sixth Avenue, New York
1959

© The Estate of André Kertész
Scan courtesy of Masters of Photography

It's one of the very few photos for me, which consists of a "dual" punctum.

What's the short man doing? Is he also in league with the blind person, to attract even more sympathy, and is only putting the penny given by someone (who must be that someone? was he attracted to the blind girl? or the pathos of the scene? or was it just routine charity) into the box. But, wouldn't the short man in that case hold the box himself? Why would it be in the hands of the girl, when the girl can't even see? And when the girl, in that case, would also be moving in the centre?
So, is it that, that the short man is the alms-giver? Why did he do it? Would he have done it, if he would have been born a normal man? Would he have the empathy instead of the sympathy now? From his dress and appearance, the short man does not look in best of the condition - and yet he is giving alms? Hair combed back Elvis-like, but there's one thickish strand coming on over the forehead - interests me deeply. As if that's the punctum in the short man which he couldn't wish away and hence he chose to give alms - trying to remove the "guilt" of his disabledness.
There's another punctum for me in this photo, as I said earlier. The young, ambitious-looking man, striding to the left of the photo. My problem is his "stride." Why such a long, quick one? Is it only a normal one for a young, ambitious man, going about his work on a good, fresh morning? Or is it that he has, unknowingly to himself, quickened because of the drama going to his left - an avoidance of giving something (least likely), an avoidance of anything unpleasant, or simply the scheme didn't exist for him in this morning, when he woke up so raring and full of bright plans? But, still he's observant; the eyes are at the blind man, and a hand is raised as if in analytical reasoning - there is a soul in there, active or not, a photo is insufficient to tell. It only can raise doubts, valid, troubling doubts.

New York (1966) by André Kertész

Andre Kertesz
New York
1966

© The Estate of André Kertész
Scan courtesy of Masters of Photography


It's the bars that tempt me, to know this world, to be, sadistically, a fragment of the suffering in these drab walls. I ask myself, most of all, about the boy who's almost completely hidden by one of the bars. What kind of a boy he is? Arms flailed, legs akimbo - why? In defiance of the boy opposite to him? Face aglow with hatred, that comes of being relentlessly persecuted, and cruelty, that makes the man one day same as his prosecutor, brings him down to the same level. Or, is he the tormentor? There's a dance of glee on his face? And it's the other boy who's only trying to run from him, but with no outlet to his back? Interestingly, and here the photo provides me with a glimpse into my own soul, I do want to imagine one of them at least in such a role - I can't think of both being devil of a street children, a forsaken, goddamed breed the whole world over. Even if they are homeless, I want one of them to be the silent, hapless sufferer, finally one day ready to turn tables on his most ferocious but most cowardly opponent. Is it today?
The punctum is that dangling thing on the hidden boy's left hand - shirt cuff torn in the fight? Something upwells within me just to see that.