As our photojournalism class comes to a close, we are reflecting on the reading material, “It’s What I Do”, by Lynsey Addario. It is difficult to summarize with only a few words, the level of sincerity Lynsey conveys to the reader in order to explain the importance of her field work. In my previous entry, I mentioned her literary approach that captivates the reader in anecdotes, while detailing her underlying mechanisms of instinct and logic. The tonality prevails to the end.
Last night, I was considering traveling to document several concurring protests that has proven to erupt with inevitable physical conflict in Portland, Oregon. When I told my roommate, a 61 year old veteran named Michael, he said, “I just hope you aren’t going to end up like those crazy ones, who die just to get their names on the front page of the paper. That’s a whole new class of crazy.” In that moment, I wanted to argue with him until the cows came home- but I knew it would be useless, since I am familiar with his demeanor and we are equally stubborn. After reading Lynsey Addario’s book, “It’s what I Do”, I felt like he could have used the literature some 30 years ago. Though it’s arguable as to whether or not she “has a screw loose”, her motivations are unquestionably derived from a need to exploit consequences of political actions and the cultures that thrive or dissolve within the realms of conflict. As any artist, creative, or passionate individual would tell you, their pursuits are like drinking water: It is the first thing you think about when you wake up, and the last thing you think about while falling asleep. In a total physical example, when Lynsey Addario details her experience after a car wreck and she phases in and out of consciousness, first she wants to know where her driver and colleagues are, secondly, she gets an ambulance to pull over, bribes a cop to get her camera, sends a message to her fiance (also informing him to contact her editor), then is rendered unconscious once more. First comes motivation, then technicality, and always there is professionalism and family. Throughout her account, Lynsey Addario writes the mechanisms that interweave as a function to her body of work.
Her writing is anecdotal yet her photographs are unique on their own, in that the atmospheric value becomes alive in their depiction of experiences outside of herself. The colors within her photographs are almost always deeply saturated and the sensitivity toward the subjects she presents hold an esteem toward the people as subjects rather than objects. She uses the colors and lighting to accent the people within the photographs as persons that are seeing, rather than persons who are there to only be seen.
Some of her photographs are blurred from action, others crisp and concise, and these varying decisions always seem intentional. In her narrative she describes several times where this decision is due to her parameters as a photographer. One of the first times the viewer catches wind of these visual decisions (and her success within these instances), can be noted in between pages 90-91, in an image of Anti-American demonstration in Peshawar, October 2001. Another example can be found between pages 213 & 214- there is a photograph of American soldiers reacting as they receive incoming mortar rounds, near an outpost. Since the military information was confidential, she had to blur the photographs to make sure that information would not be obtained. Though the parameters are different in each, she has to hide her camera in Peshawar, and information in Korengal, the images contain a level of intimacy and description that hooks the viewer through its mood. The photograph above, which she takes while photographing women that have been raped in the Congo Republic, contains poetic hues from a singular light source: Intimacy completely influenced by an honest environment true to moments in time, sensitive to mood, texture and color. To me, each photograph becomes allegorical to those who exist on the fringes of conflicting society: rich in culture defined by the human tendency to cling to ethnicity and identity, however suffering from natural and humanitarian devastation. It is among one of the first images I think of when I think, ‘‘What is the work of Lynsey Addario?’’. Of course, her writing also follows this trend.
Between pages 334-35 there is a photograph of Lynsey with her son, Lukas without any captions, however on page 335 she states, “As a war correspondent and a mother, I’ve learned to live in two different realities. [...] I choose to live in peace and witness war---to experience the worst in people but to remember the beauty.” She comes full circle from her prelude and then extends the dialogue to conclude.
As far as the protests are concerned, I chose not to go. I was unprepared for the kind of mentality it takes to stay organized in case of an emergency. Mostly, I know that I would not have been able to do it alone in an unfamiliar place under such short notice. In a lot of ways, this book becomes a reminder toward technical necessity and professional tendency- without Michael's remark and this book, I might not have stopped to think about it.
Photojournalism is not something I consider as a career choice, but it is definitely important and anyone can be involved, whether it entails going out and taking photographs once in awhile, arguing in letters to an editor, or even the way that one decides interpret and research the world around them- “It’s What I Do,” applies to a vast and large audience and I would recommend it to many people beyond the scope of my roommate.
No comments:
Post a Comment