The most interesting thing about Saatchi's 2001 publication Am A is not necessarily the content. Any number of the included artists (Andreas Gursky, Cindy Sherman, Nan Goldin, Andy Warhol, and others) could be singled out and discussed at length in multitude of ways. The title itself is what sparks intrigue, but the included essay does little to elaborate on it, claiming that the included artists were part of a breakdown in art's hierarchies of painting and sculpture. (1) While perhaps true, the essay leaves out something that title like Am A insinuates--something far more potent about the act of photography. Am comes from the title of play published in 1951 by John Van Druten. Adapted from short story by Christopher Isherwood called Goodbye to Berlin (1939), the play became feature film in 1955, going on to inspire the well-known musical Cabaret. No version of the story ever received much critical acclaim, but in the first passage of the play, Van Druten gets right to the point. The main character (a writer) struggles to begin his novel, and sits down to write: I am camera, with its shutter open, quite passive. Someday all of this will have to be developed, carefully printed, fixed. (2) Isherwood's original version is slightly different: I am camera, with its shutter open, quite passive--recording, not thinking. (3) Both passages are compelling--Van Druten's is more closely tied to the process of still photography, while Isherwood refers to time-based media. In both cases, the photographic process is paralleled with human observation, and intertwined with the desire to remember. The strength of the passage fades away as the narrative takes over, but the idea has made itself clear: the camera and the gesture of photography are tied to notion of capturing and preserving images, which suggests the notion of preserving memories themselves. This is, of course, rather obvious. Plenty of excavation has occurred along these lines. The notion of memory relating to the act of photography is nothing new; in fact, it can be plainly evident in popular culture. The correlation between the camera and the brain is so widely accepted and understood it becomes cheeky punchline that helps explain the reality of getting older: I have photographic memory, just ran out of film. But it is also something many wrestle with seriously, and sometimes literally--like Iraqi-American artist Wafaa Bilaal, who in 2010 had camera surgically installed in the back of his head for project called The 3rd I, project that was to last year but was cut short due to physiological complications. Perhaps the idea is bit too literal in Bilaal's case, but it nevertheless serves as an example. [ILLUSTRATION OMITTED] A more philosophical perspective is introduced with the help of the progressive rock band Yes. Their 1980 song Into the Lens was rearrangement of song called I Am A Camera by the Buggies, band whose leading members later became part of Yes. And yes--the song was inspired by Christopher Isherwood's original short story. Yes's version goes like this: I am camera, taken, taken so easily, to pass into glass reality. Transformer, transferring energy. (4) Though this version is certainly more ambiguous, it shows how Isherwood's line has been adapted yet again for conceptual interpretation. Scott Bartlett, an experimental film and video artist in the 1960s, said something rather eloquent: Some memories leave such an indelible mark on the mind that you're sure they will last beyond the brains that housed them. (5) More than binding the brain and camera as mechanically similar, Bartlett talks about the preservation of memory in more intensely metaphysical way. Van Druten's suggestion of preserving what is observed, or Bartlett's idea that memories might outlast physical existence, seem to go beyond the obvious parallels and start more dense conversation. …
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Jan 1, 2016
Ioannis Karydis + 3
