Parallel Lines: George H. King
RAHIMA GAMBO. Ruth, Amina, and the three Aisha’s play “In and Out”, from the series Tatsuniya, 2017
© Rahima Gambo, Courtesy of the Artist
Federica Belli: The language of photography is still among the most contemporary ones, notwithstanding the diffusion of digital art and AR. Which factors make photography such a relevant medium in our time?
George H. King: It’s often said that, nowadays, we’re all photographers – in that so many of us have access to cameras, tools which were once the preserve of specialists and enthusiasts. This notion that we have the technology literally at our fingertips is often used to underline the accessibility of photography, or even its popularity – that, because we produce images, we understand their function or know how to read them. I think this is something of a fallacy, or an exaggeration at least. I remember a conversation I had with a festival director, who outlined study conducted in the UK which found that the public doesn’t necessarily feel an affinity with photography, despite the fact that the vast majority of us are constantly producing images. The study suggested that people tend to feel way more connected to music, literature, or other cultural forms. But coming back to your question, it’s clear we’re living in a world which is increasingly image-based, and the interfaces we use daily like Instagram and tiktok have given rise to so many new modes of expression (memes, for instance), of which visuals are an intrinsic part. On another level, there’s this old adage that a single image can speak a thousand words, but we also know that images and their makers don’t always aspire to say quite so much. I do think, though, that images maintain a really powerful potential to communicate something that words can’t necessarily always reach. Living in times like these, I often find myself in pretty existential conversations with friends, where we circle around a subject so complex, and so tied up with a host of other related questions, that we never really reach a satisfying conclusion. I sometimes think that photography can do a far more satisfying job of pointing to the core of an issue, or of summing something up where words fail us.
F.B. Often the perceived distance from photographic language is linked with the widespread lack of visual literacy. If one does not understand a specific language, why would she bother reading a book written in such language? And the same goes for photography. Often, images fascinate and excite, still they can’t break through a superficial degree of involvement. In some way, that implies that there is still huge potential for delving deeper in the ways photography can communicate. And educating towards visual literacy could be the key.
G.H.K. Indeed: there’s an expectation that we all leave high school with a basic sense of numeracy and literacy, but we don’t attach great significance to the reading of images. I remember watching a BBC documentary in an art history class, in which the presenter stood in a train station as the visual symbols around him gradually disappeared: the point being that we’re reading images all the time, without necessarily acknowledging our ability to do so.
SAMUEL GRATACAP. Choucha Camp (Tunisia, 2013) from the series Empire © Samuel Gratacap, Courtesy of the Artist
F.B. This discourse applies even more to experimental photography, something you came in contact with at UNSEEN Amsterdam. Having worked at UNSEEN you have come in contact with the most exciting examples of avant-garde photography. In which ways does an innovative visual language contribute to the effective communication of a photograph?
G.H.K. I wouldn’t say that a striking or experimental visual language necessarily implies more effective communication, but it might well resonate more with observers. By producing unique or striking works, it’s easier to cut through some of the noise – of what has already been produced, and with which we’re already familiar. The projects and practices that excite me are those that derive from multiple fields of knowledge, or that make use of various different media. I would imagine that those less familiar with our field would be surprised by the expanded nature of contemporary photographic practices: far from a a two-dimensional print to be hung on a gallery wall, a photograph today might constitute just one element or tool within a hybrid or multimedia practice. I’m particularly attracted to the exchange that happens when artists join forces with practitioners or thinkers from other fields. Fundamentally, some of the artists I’ve had a chance to work with are just incredible researchers, and I think this trait is often lost on the wider public. We know there’s a lack of appreciation for the arts in society, and that might have to do with a lot of the artistic process going unnoticed or remaining hidden. I think that sense of appreciation could be enhanced if we could see more of the thought and labour behind the production of an image.
F.B. Both FOAM Magazine and UNSEEN Magazine are known for scouting and spreading the work of new talents in photography. Some talents then continue growing to become established, while some disappear from the radar. In your experience, which are the common traits of those who remain in the industry?
G.H.K. In recent times I've definitely been taking another look at the way in which I’ve been involved in speaking about, presenting, or introducing ‘talent’ in the past: it’s easy to fall into this trap of describing talent as if it’s something god-given or inherent, which feels a bit silly at times! I’d say that whether someone is regarded to be talented inevitably has to do with the particular moment in which their research comes together, and how effectively their work speaks to the key concerns of our time. Of course, any issue of any magazine is in some way concerned with trying to conjure the zeitgeist, or to capture a snapshot of the times we’re living in. But it’s also inevitably connected to the demands of the market: it’s easy to forget at times that the photography world, part of the art world more broadly, is ultimately an industry. So the talent label also reflects what an audience – whether it’s collectors, institutions or the public at large – want to see, buy and engage with. I tend to believe the longevity of certain artists’ careers is connected to their particular visual language. Do they have an aesthetic signature that marks them out? Can you look at a work and quickly decipher who created it? In my experience, success for artists – in a conventional sense – might be more easily achievable when they have a recognisable style, or if their different projects share common threads in terms of subject matter. But to demand that continuity of artists can be quite prescriptive, and we should ultimately all be free to experiment and make changes in what we do. I’ve worked with certain artists who’ve told me that they’ll never be able to make another project quite as impactful as the one they received early recognition for. The weight of expectation can be pretty suffocating in that sense.
PHELIM HOEY. Untitled, from the series La Machine, 2019 © Phelim Hoey, Courtesy of the Artist
F.B. It could also reach the point of stifling creativity, which is one of the issues linked to the industry. And in fact, members of the photographic community often complain about its mechanisms. What is the current role of institutions in sustaining the industry and how could they contribute to a more sustainable work environment?
G.H.K. I think this feeling of frustration and bitterness about the mechanisms of the art world, and the kind of institutions around which our communities revolve, is increasingly coming to the fore at the moment. It seems that so many of us – artists as well as other cultural practitioners – have terrible stories to tell about the kind of experiences we’ve had within and outside institutions: about deeply unprofessional conduct, an absence of safety nets for cultural workers, precarious working conditions, low fees for both freelance and contract-based work, or worse still, a huge amount of labour that goes totally unpaid. In my own experience, I’ve never really felt like there’s much of a culture of investing in or training arts professionals, but more-so a kind of extractive tendency to bleed people dry – people who are often desperate for work, or who are taken advantage of on the grounds that there’s a kind of cultural capital that comes with working in proximity to the arts, as opposed to pursuing a more run-of-the-mill corporate job, perhaps. We really have to demand something better in this regard. With this in mind, it’s clear to see that great many cultural institutions have become much more conscious of conversations around identity and representation, on the surface at least, which inevitably comes in response to the wave of social justice movements we’ve seen in the last years. Identity really does matter, as does representation – and some of these efforts are very significant. But when institutions proffer a range of socio-political values, it can become a bit of a smokescreen, obscuring some of the other significant issues that aren’t being resolved within the industry. I think there’s often a massive chasm between the values that some cultural institutions tout publicly, and the reality within, There’s always a sewage system somewhere beneath the surface that needs to examined a little more closely: why aren’t we all being paid fairly for our labour, for instance?
F.B. Photographers entering the industry are often taught that working with photography implies dropping the expectation to make good money. What is your opinion in this regard? How could we ensure that people thrive in this field?
G.H.K. As much as I recognise that opportunities to earn a decent living wage in the cultural field are pretty scarce, I don’t want to accept that nor frame it in terms of common sense. Austerity and the underfunding of the arts are ultimately political choices being made somewhere in our societies. It just seems to me that, for an industry that prides itself on imagination and creativity, we can be pretty unimaginative when it comes to rethinking the structures in which we operate.
